


Shadow of the Past

by wittyy_name, Zizzani



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Canon Universe, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Time Travel, background shiro/allura - Freeform, but like soft and tender angst, established relationship but also not??, mirror fics, pining squared really, set one year in the future, shenanigans ensue, the future has an established relationship but the past doesn't
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 108,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9727922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittyy_name/pseuds/wittyy_name, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zizzani/pseuds/Zizzani
Summary: When Lance is thrown through time, he finds himself one year in the future, in place of the Lance that should be here.He finds his team to be remarkably familiar, yet distinctly different. They have more scars, a better grip on the whole saving the universe thing, and over a year’s worth of teamwork to bind them together. But the weirdest part? Keith seems to be a lot more touchy with him. Not that he’s complaining… much.The team must try and work out how to reverse the two Lance’s places and restore them to their original timelines. But despite the fact that they’re still his friends, Lance can’t help but feel a little out of place among a team that’s been through so much with a Lance that just isn’t him. And it doesn’t help that the team is on edge around him, refusing to tell him anything for fear of influencing and changing the past. Things get even more complicated when they have to rely on the team in the past to complete the switch, leaving Lance to little more than sit, wait, and attempt to fill in his future self’s shoes.___________Mirror fic to "Ghost of the Future" by Zizzani





	1. We Fell Together

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I'm back at it again with another Klance fic, and boy does it feel good to write in the canon universe again. 
> 
> This fic is part of a two fic writer collab with one of my fav klance writers, the talented [@zizzani](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zizzani/pseuds/Zizzani)! We'll be writing and updating our fics in tandem, mine taking place in the future and hers in the past, and together they'll cover the entirety of the story.
> 
> So when you're done, if you haven't already, please go read [Ghost of the Future](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/21934646)!
> 
> Bo (zizzani) is also an amazing artist and did [BANNER ART](http://dreamwips.tumblr.com/post/157276502909/shadow-of-the-past-ghost-of-the-future-me-and) for our au!

“Is anyone else getting like… a _major_ case of deja vu?” Lance asks, stepping carefully over some rubble and shifting his grip on his bayard. The gun is pointed at nothing in particular, because there’s nothing _to_ point it at. The whole temple is just ruins, falling apart and covered in overgrown plant life. The preemptive scans didn’t show any organic life _other_ than the plants, but that doesn’t stop the nagging sensation at the back of his mind, keeping him on edge.

“For the hundredth time, Lance,” Pidge grumbles, hopping over a fallen and broken column. “No, it’s just you.”

“Yeah, okay, so Pidge doesn’t get a vote.” He doesn’t even spare his comrade a courtesy glare. He’s too busy turning in a small circle as he walks, looking at everything, trying to figure out what the hell is _wrong_. “What about you guys? Any weird feelings happening?”

“What kind of weird feelings, Lance?” Shiro’s voice floats through the coms, all business but with an edge of curiosity that he can’t quite hide.

“Like a… ‘we’ve been here before’ kinda vibe. _Have_ we been here before? Coran?”

“Hmmm… It’s possible. Looking through the ship’s logs surrounding this planet, it seems a lot of the data has been corrupted…Fascinating. I’ve never seen anything of the like.”

Pidge pauses, looking thoughtful. “Is it even possible for the castle’s log to be corrupted?”

“Indeed, it is, number five!”

“Will you ever stop calling me that?” She grumbles.

And Coran’s cheerful voice sings back a merry, “Nope!”

Lance pats her shoulder with a comforting hand as he passes. “At least your number didn’t go down when a certain _somebody_ hit a second growth spurt.”

“Let it go, Lance.” Comes Keith’s tired voice. Lance likes to think, however, that there’s some amusement in there. Probably somewhere deep, deep down.

“Never forget.” He proclaims, but it has significantly less defiant enthusiasm as it usually does.

Probably due to the fact that he still can’t get rid of this annoying nagging sensation. It picks at him, tickling the back of his mind, making his hair stand on end, but every time he reaches for it, it slips through his fingers like smoke. He’s trying to look around, to find something to trigger the sensation more, but everything is just so… familiar and yet completely foreign? He can’t quite put his finger on it, and that makes him more anxious.

“Seriously, though, guys, _major_ deja vu over here.”

“What kind of deja vu?” Keith asks, instantly attentive and focused. If it weren’t for the hair on the back of his neck standing up on end, he might just smile.

“A bad deja vu?” Hunk asks, sounding just as attentive but a lot more wary. “Or like… _I had a dream kinda like this once_ kinda deja vu?”

“I don’t… really know. I can’t tell.” He says, following Pidge as she leads the way to the back of the temple, past whatever weird alien alter might have once been there but is now just rubble and dust, decorated with fallen statues and picked clean of valuables by scavengers.

As they near a doorway at the back, one that’s half blocked by a fallen chunk of the roof, Pidge taps a finger at the symbols edged into the wall next to the frame. “We found more Altean writing.”

“Can you send us a visual, Pidge?” Allura asks, voice charged with far too much curiosity, excitement, and dread. He knows her well enough by now to know that she’s trying desperately not to get her hopes up.

“On it.” Pidge scans the section of the wall and taps a few things on the wrist of her suit. “Should be coming your way. Let’s go, Lance.” She says before darting through the small opening of the door.

He eyes the writing on the wall for a second. It’s messy and looks like it was carved hastily. His Altean isn’t exactly the best, but the message is simple enough to understand: _”This way_ ”

It’s weird. They had received a distress signal from this planet, Ecnes, not too long ago. Some research showed the planet had been dying for years and mostly abandoned for several millennia. But the strangest thing? The distress signal had some Altean gibberish encoded into it. So, naturally, when faced with a distress signal of possible Altean affiliation coming from a planet that was threatening to collapse in on itself at any moment, they wasted no time hopping through a wormhole and setting off toward the surface.

A quick scan of the planet told them that there wasn’t any intelligent life left. There was, however, several abandoned galra bases and one pin point of undeniable energy humming brighter than anything else they found on the scanners. Time was limited with the planet threatening collapse, so they’d decided to split up. Keith and Hunk to one galra base, and Allura and Shiro to another to see if they could find anything or gather any useful information. Pidge, being the excitable tech nut she is, and Lance, not exactly equipped with a useful galra arm or genes to get through the doors, were sent to investigate the source of energy.

Turns out the energy is coming from some ancient ruins of a temple. Figures. The weird part was finding a few Altean runes carved into the entrance way, leading them to the back of the temple where they just found more. According to Coran, the Alteans were allies with this planet back in the day, like ten thousand years ago, but these marks looked far too recent.

Neither Coran nor Allura want to get their hopes up, and Lance doesn’t blame them. This place looks deserted and desolate, and there’s just something… _off_ about the Altean stuff they’ve been finding. It just sets him on edge more.

A sudden and violent shaking of the ground beneath their feet drags him out of his thoughts and reminds him that the planet is literally crumbling beneath their feet. He nearly loses his balance before diving forward and attempting to scramble through the half blocked doorway.

“Lance, hurry up!”

“I’m _trying_! Not all of us were built to fit through tiny spaces!”

Turning on a light, Pidge leads the way through the maze of corridors, staring at the scanner in their hand to track the source of the energy. The walls are smoothed stone bricks, but the deeper they go, the more they look naturally carved from the earth itself. The temple is pressed up against a mountain side, and Lance gets the distinct impression that the corridors are leading into the mountain itself. It’s dark and eery, and Lance just can’t shake this _feeling_ he has.

“Uh, Pidge, how close are we?” He mumbles, glancing over his shoulder for the umpteenth time.

“Definitely close. We should be there any moment.”

“Alright, good. Sooner we get there, the sooner we can get out.”

“Still having those feelings, Lance?” Keith’s voice cuts in. He had been ignoring all the general chatter of what they were finding in the galra bases, but Keith’s voice always catches his attention.

“Yeah,” He breathes, almost afraid to speak too loud. The walls around them absorb sound, leaving their voices sounding dead and flat. He’s not a fan. “Can’t quite shake it.”

There’s a brief pause, then Coran speaks. “Perhaps we should take caution, paladins. Lance _does_ have a history of astoundingly perceptive intuition. Listening to his gut instincts has proven extremely beneficial in the past.”

“Saved our asses plenty of times, too.” Hunk adds.

“Hunk, you have bad feelings, too.” Lance mumbles.

“Yeah, but not like yours, Lance. I read people. For you, it’s like you just _know_ what we should or shouldn’t do.”

“I vote we listen to Lance with this one.” Keith says, and though his voice is its usually gruff seriousness, Lance can hear worry lacing the undertones. Keith knew something was off the moment the planet came into view and Lance started to get an inkling of a weird feeling. Lance still isn’t sure how he can read him so well, but he does. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he trusted Lance’s gut enough to make him worried. He had given Lance his dagger for extra protection, despite Lance’s protests. And despite those protests, it’s a comforting weight. Like somehow Keith is there, protecting him, despite being on the other side of the planet.

“We have to keep going.” Allure says, voice firm.

“I agree,” Coran adds. “This planet could have valuable information that would be a shame to lose in its collapse. We should, however, proceed with caution.”

“We’re nearly to the source.” Pidge picks up the pace, and Lance drags his feet after her.

“Are we _sure_ we haven’t been here before?” Lance mumbles.

“Well, according to Slav—“ Pidge starts, but is immediately cut off by Shiro’s quick.

“Don’t.”

They all chuckle, but it’s not enough to dissolve the tension Lance feels. “Lance, we’re just in dark hallways and we’ve been through ruins.” Pidge says with a sigh, and he knows she’s trying to rationalize his uneasiness away. He appreciates the attempt, but it just draws his attention to the walls and the darkness and suddenly he feels like they’re closing in on him. Is it harder to breath down here? “You’re probably just feeling deja vu because we’ve been in situations like this countless times.”

“That’s true,” Hunk says. “We’ve been to so many planets and places that I can barely remember them all. I get them mixed up all the time. I can’t even remember half of what every place and every species is called. Everything kinda starts to look the same after a while.”

“True…” Lance mumbles, trying to let that thought comfort him. It does a piss poor job. He’s too busy looking behind him again that he doesn’t see Pidge stop, and nearly trips over her. He makes a disgruntled sound, but Pidge is too busy frowning at her scanner. “What’s up, Pidgeon?”

“It says the source should be right here.” She says, looking up and around, frown deepening. They’ve stepped out of the corridor and into a round room with a high ceiling.

“Uh, if it’s right here, shouldn’t there be like… at least a light or some kind of alien technology or crystal or fountain or something other than an empty room?”

“Exactly, but that’s what the scanner says.”

“Maybe the scanner is busted.”

“I built it. The scanner isn’t busted.”

Lance reluctantly deactivates his bayard and puts it away in favor of turning on his wrist light and helping Pidge look around. They poke around the room, but it’s just… empty. There’s a few fallen stones from the walls and ceiling, some rubble shaken loose from years of abandonment and the shaking of the planet. The floor has a pattern carved into it, with a circle at the center and symbols and lines spiraling out from it. But the only way out is the way they came in. No other doors or corridors. No nothing. Just… an empty room.

Lance stands in the center, one hand on his hip while his other aims the light around the room. “I don’t see anything.”

“What’s going on down there, you two?” Allura asks through the coms.

“We found where the energy is coming from, but there’s nothing here.” Lance says. “Just a big empty, dark room in the middle of a mountain and attached to some ancient temple.”

“Keep looking, there has to be something there.”

He tries not to sigh. “You got it, princess.”

“Hey Lance, come here.” Pidge says from across the room.

He turns to see her standing at the wall opposite from the way they came in. When he steps up beside her, her hand is pressed to the stone wall, gently touching something carved there. “What’d you find?”

“Check this out.” She lets her hand drop, and that’s when Lance sees it: it’s a carving of a lion. It’s crude and the lines are jagged in the uneven surface of the rock, but it’s unmistakably a lion. More than that, it’s very clearly _Blue_.

Well… maybe not _clearly_ , but they’ve been around their lions long enough to be able to spot the small differences between them, and he get the very distinct impression that his carving is of his lion.

“Is that…?” He asks, feeling breathless as his heart jams its way into his throat.

“I think so…” Pidge breathes. Then she looks at him and nods toward the wall. “What’re you waiting for? Touch it.”

Lance’s gaze snaps to her, mouth agape before it shuts to form a small frown. “I can’t just go around touching strange alien stuff, Pidge!”

“it’s never stopped you before.” Comes the deadpan voice that he loves and hates.

“No one asked you, _Keith_!”

The earth below them rumbles again, shaking violently enough to send dust and gravel tumbling from the ceiling. Lance shifts his weight to balance, glancing nervously at the ceiling.

“Oh, for the love of— we don’t have time for this!” Pidge grabs his wrist as soon as the rumbling stop and presses his hand to the carving.

“Pidge, no— wait—!”

But his words are choked off because as soon as his hand touches the uneven stone wall, the carving lights up. It starts as a subtle but unmistakeable glow, lighting up the thin carving lines. Then all at once, it brightens, flashing as the light shoots downward, crawling in cracks and splinters along lines they hadn’t seen before, reaching out like veins until it hits the floor. They jump back as the light etches out along the carvings along the floor. It spirals around the room, lighting up each line, each symbol, each rune. Even when Lance tears his hand from the wall, it doesn’t stop.

When the light reaches the center, it gets brighter, the whole room bathed in an eerie light, casting shadows up the wall. Then it flashes once and the center dims just as another rumble starts up. But this isn’t the same earth shaking rumble of the planet moaning it’s final breaths. It’s smaller, more localized, more like a crack and splinter and slide of stone. They watch in awe as the center circle of the glowing floor mosaic sinks into the ground before sliding away, revealing a hole.

And then there’s silence. Silence and the soft white glow lighting up the room. They stare for a moment, then look at each other. He’s certain the look of confusion and awe on Pidge’s face is mirrored on his own. Without saying a word, they start forward, slowing as they reach the hole in the floor and stepping over the glowing cracks beneath them.

“Whoa…” Lance breaths, staring down at the hole. It’s not that big, but definitely big enough to fit through comfortably.

“Yeah, whoa…” Pidge echoes. “Coran, I’m sending you scans.”

“Roger that!”

As they scan the area, Lance crouches at the edge of the hole, looking down into the dark depths. The light is splintered down the sides, illuminating a gentle slope that curves out of sight. “I guess we found the source of the energy readings…” Lance mumbles, looking around the room.

Pidge gives a sharp shake of her head, looking at the scanner. “I don’t think so. I think this is just runoff from the source.” She stares down at the hole. “I think the source is down there.”

“From what I can tell of your readings, you’re correct, Pidge!” Coran says. “There’s definitely some sort of energy centralized beneath you. I haven’t seen anything like this in years,” He says, awe creeping into his tone. “The residents of this planet were always leaps and bounds ahead of us with quintessence technology, but they were always very secretive about their knowledge. This is astounding. They seem to have found ways to change and bend the quintessence. Amazing.”

“So what now?” Pidge asks, eyeing the hole.

Lance follows her gaze, then glances back up, a small mischievous smirk curving across his lips. “We go down?”

A matching grin lights up Pidge’s face. “We go down.”

That sense of foreboding hasn’t gone away, but it’s drowned out by a new edge of excitement and discovery, and Lance has never been one to shy away from adventure. It’s what got him into this whole saving the universe thing to begin with.

“Lance,” Comes Keith’s voice, level and reproachful. “Be careful.”

Lance grins. “Aren’t I always, babe?”

Keith groans in his ear, and Lance stands, chuckling. “Keep an eye on him, Pidge.”

“Roger that, worry wort.” She gives a mock salute for good measure that only Lance can see. He laughs at Keith’s unamused grunt.

He gazes down at the hole, then to Pidge. “See you on the other side.” He gives her a playful bow before jumping down the hole.

He hits the slope and it catches his fall, leading him into more of a slide. The tunnel immediately engulfs him, and he’s speeding past darkness and flashes from the splintered veins of light. As he goes, the slope get steep enough for him to pick up speed, curving around in a wide, gentle spiral as he sinks deeper into the earth. And while his heart is hammering in his chest and adrenaline is flooding his veins, he feels _alive_. He lets out a loud _whoop!_ of excitement as he hears Pidge’s shout of “ _Geronimo!_ ” from above.

He’s not sure how long the slide is or how long it takes to get to the bottom. The lights guide his way down, making the tight space seem less claustrophobic and more like some twisted ride at a theme park.

“What’s going on over there?” Shiro asks over coms, but Lance can barely hear him over the pound of blood in his ears and the sounds of his and Pidge’s excited whoops.

“We’re getting to the _bottom_ of this!” Lance shouts.

Pidge laughs from somewhere behind him. “Oh my god, Lance, you need to be more _down to earth_!”

“Uuuh, anyone else feel like they’re missing something?” Hunk asks as Lance and Pidge laugh.

Shiro sighs. “You’re not alone, Hunk.”

“Oh thank god,” A pause, and then, “Though I’m starting to think we got shafted on assignments.”

By the time he reaches the end, he’s going to fast to really slow for the drop off. He barely registers the end of the tunnel is there before it’s spitting him out. Luckily, the mouth of it isn’t that high from the ground. Still, it spits him out, his momentum carrying him skittering across the floor a ways. He groans, laying flat, and only has time to relax for a couple seconds before suddenly Pidge is flying through the air and landing on him.

He lets out a loud _oomph_ as the air rushes from his lungs, and is there defeated until Pidge decides to get off him.

When they get their bearings and actually take a look around, they both gasp in awe.

The room is a mirror of the one above: round with a high ceiling. The difference is this one has something in the middle of the wide open space. It’s some kind of machine or alter. The first thing he sees is the four claw like pillars that are sprouting from the ground, curving like fingers and tipping at points that curve inward to point at the large, slightly raised, circular platform that rested between them. He can’t tell what they were made of. Metal? Stone? They’re huge and creepy, and completely distracted him from the large control panel off to the side that doesn’t look unlike ones on the ship.

As they watch, the veins of glowing light come creeping down the cave walls, splintering through cracks with a soft glow. When they hit the floor, the fingers of light creep toward the center of the room. When they reach the machine, the whole thing seems to hum to life. Crystals that almost look like Balmeran Crystals are imbedded into each of the claw-like pillars, glowing big and bright. The control panel lights up, but the platform on the floor remains oddly dark.

He and Pidge stand there for several more minutes, watching with baited breath, but nothing else happens. The room just pulsates with the eery glow. At first glance, it’s a white light, but with each pulse it seems to drift through several colors. All at once and none at all, so subtle that he stares, wondering if he’s seeing things.

The whole room, the look and feel of it, brings back his uneasiness tenfold. The sense of deja vu hits him with enough intensity to leave him reeling. He barely registers the voices over their coms. He barely notices when Pidge starts creeping along the room, exploring the machinery and technology with rapt and undivided attention. He barely hears her voice as she relays what she sees. He just stares at the machine at the center, trying to ward off the sudden wave of nausea.

“Lance?” Keith’s voice brings him back into himself. It always does. “Lance, you okay?”

Lance clears his throat, shaking his head, forcing a smile to his face and hoping it comes across in his voice. No use to worry him for no reason. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong—“

“Lance.”

“Keith.”

“ _Lance_.”

“ _Keith_.”

“Oh my god, keep your lover’s quarrel out of the coms. I’m trying to figure this out.” Pidge says from where she’s standing at the control panel, fingers deftly flying over the holo surface.

He glares at her. “I was just telling Keith that I’m _fine_.”

“And I was just telling _Lance_ that that’s bullshit. What’s wrong?”

He sighs, smile dropping as he runs a hand through his hair. “Nothing’s _wrong_ , I just… I don’t like this place.”

“What’re you talking about?” Pidge says, excitement leaking into her voice. “This place is _amazing_. I’ve never seen anything like it! Or… maybe I have. It does look a little familiar. Maybe we’ve come across this technology before.”

“Ah, hA! So you _are_ feeling some deja vu, too!”

Pidge shrugs. “Now that we’re down here, yeah, a little. But it doesn’t feel… _wrong_. Just feels like I’ve seen something like this before, but I can’t quite put my finger on it…” She trails off, hunched over the control panel.

When Lance can finally get his legs to work, he carefully tiptoes around the room, avoiding stepping on the glowing cracks even though they’ve proved to be harmless. He steps up to one of the claw-like pillars, eyeing it curiously and reaching out to touch it. It’s cold and smooth, but he still can’t tell what it’s made out of. Something dark, looking almost like shadows with all the glowing around the room. Hard, maybe-metal shadow claws. That’s not ominous. He raps a knuckle against it, but is only met with a dull sound. Solid, then. The balmeran crystals imbedded into them face the center and are about the size of his head. They’re pulsing brighter than the rest of the room, like four heartbeats in sync, and the rest of the glowing pulses outward. Like the damn thing is alive. He… doesn’t want to think about that.

“Weird…” He mumbles to himself, then steps away from the pillar to look down at the platform.

It’s only a few inches above the ground, and made from the same material as the pillars. There’s a lot of symbols and runes that he doesn’t recognized carved into it, spiraling inward to the center, where there’s a fifth crystal, nearly twice as big as the others, neatly imbedded into the center so it doesn’t raise much higher than the surface. This one isn’t lit up, and the veins of light, and what presumes at this point is energy, don’t stretch up to the platform. It’s an odd spot of darkness in the room.

“Do you think this one’s dead?” He asks aloud.

“Hmm?” Pidge hums. She’s been crouched in front of the control panel, having taken off the front panel to stare at the thing’s inner workings, but at his question, she pops her head up over the top of the control panel to look at him. “What was that?”

He gestures to the dim crystal. “This one. Do you think it’s dead?”

She seems to think about that for a moment, nose crinkling as she does so, then she shrugs. “Dunno. It’s possible. This think looks pretty ancient.” Then she ducks back down. “There are vials of stuff in here.” She says, poking around inside the alien tech. “And some little crystal things. Kinda like what you’d find on the ship. Some of the vials are low though… and some of the crystals look like they’re out of alignment. Maybe I can just— there!”

Lance jerks as the room’s light pulses brightly before dimming again. They both freeze, waiting, but nothing else changes. The only sound is the constant hum.

“I was kinda hoping that would do something.” Pidge says, sounding a little dejected. She stands, poking around at the control panel screens again. They’re holographic screens, like what’s on the ship, which might have once been cool, but by now it’s just old news. That technology is _everywhere_.

“What’d you think this thing is?” He asks, standing again.

“I have no idea, and I would _love_ to find out, but all the damn settings on this thing are locked and it’s in a language I don’t understand!” She brings her hands down on the panel. “Dammit! I was hoping it would be in Altean, at least.”

“Weird that Altean markings led us here…”

“Yeah, but there was something… off about them. Like they weren’t written neatly like what we see on the ship. More like… probably how an Altean child would write or something. Or you.”

“Hey!”

She shrugs, a small smile playing across her lips as she darts around the control panel to jog over to where he’s standing. “Let me take a look at that.”

He shrugs as she squats down next to the crystal in the floor. “Be my guest.”

She flicks it with a finger. “Huh, weird.”

“Yeah, weird…” He echoes, looking around the room and trying suppress the _feeling_ that he can’t shake.

With half an ear, he listens as Pidge talks to coran over the coms, trying to figure out whatever the hell this thing is and why it’s still active when everything else on the planet is deactivated and dead. Lance wants to know why the hell it was attuned to _him_ , but he supposes there are more pressing matters at hand.

Like the fact that the planet is literally _dying beneath their feet_.

A rumble starts up, dust and rocks falling from the ceiling. He reaches out a hand against the wall to steady himself, heart rate speeding up again. He looks immediately to Pidge, but they barely pause in their investigations. He understands their fascination with new technology and everything, The girl is absolutely crazy about it. But he thinks the _collapsing planet_ should warrant _a little_ more attention than she’s giving it.

“Uh, Pidge? Maybe we should wrap this up and get going? With all these earthquakes, I don’t think being _underground in a mountain_ is the best place to be.”

Pidge just waves a hand at him. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll go when we figure this out.”

He sighs, looking to the wall where his hand is resting, eyes following the veins of light and—

Huh, well that’s out of place.

On the wall, carved in that same crude messy script as before, is a string of Altean symbols.

“Uh, Pidge?”

“I need a few more minutes, Lance.” She sighs. “Some _help_ would be lovely, though, if you want to speed up the process.”

“How’s this for help?” He asks, waving to the wall.

She looks up, squinting across the room. “What is it?”

“Looks like the same kind of Altean message we found upstairs.”

“What’s it say?”

He was kind of hoping she would just come over and read it herself. She was _infinitely_ better at reading Altean. Sure, he knew the basics, but it took him a while. Turns out the ease of learning multiple languages doesn’t extend to alien languages with an entirely different alphabet, grammar structure, and sound base. Not to mentions he’s not really a fan of the learning program aboard the ship.

He turns back to the wall, fingers idly trading the carving as he squints in concentration, brows furrowing and nose crinkling. Pidge was right. There _is_ something off about this Altean. It’s not as… smooth as what he’s used to reading. The structure and spelling is weird. Just little mistakes that are probably normal from someone actually writing, but he’s not used to from reading official documents on the ship.

“Ummm… The first part says… _align the yellow crystal in the panel_ …I think.”

He glances over at Pidge, and she’s staring at him, face blank. She blinks, looks over her shoulder to the control panel, then back to him. “I did that. What else does it say?”

There’s excitement building in her, and he feels it. It buzzes across his nerves like electricity. “Uh, this part, says… oh man, this handwriting is terrible. Though I guess carving into a rock is probably pretty hard, depending on what they’re using to—“

“Lance!”

“Right. It says… _activate the transfer?_ I think it says transfer, not sure. _Activate the transfer program._ ” He snorts, then looks over his shoulder, small smile on his face. “It says it’s the big red button on the holo screen, in case you couldn’t figure it out.”

Pidge glares at him, brows furrowed. “I’m being patronized by a _wall_. Great. Anyway, I did that. the settings were locked though. I can’t change them. Or at least, I probably _could_ , but it would take too much time. What else does it say?”

Lance looks back at it, fingers moving over the letters as his lips silently sound out the words, mind fixing with a translation. “It says… _give the center crystal a quarter turn to the right, lift, half a turn to the left, push in, rotate a quarter turn to the right to lock into place_. At least, I’m pretty sure what that says. Kinda hard to tell, but that seems to be the gist of it—“

“Done!” Pidge calls out excitedly, and then a little more breathless. “Whoa…”

A cold spike of ice goes shivering down his spine, settling in his gut like lead. He whirls around, eyes immediately focusing on Pidge, standing at the center of the platform, staring down the crystal imbedded into it. The glow crackles away from it, filling in the carvings on the platform, spreading out from the center. She takes a couple steps back and mumbles something under her breath that Lance doesn’t hear because his heartbeat is _too damn loud in his ears_.

Something’s wrong. It’s the same kind of instinctual fight or flight reflex he gets when faced with danger, but in this case, he can’t tell _where_ the danger is coming from, or what it even is. So far all the glowing alien tech has done nothing to indicate it might harmful, yet he can’t help the sense of _wrong_ that’s coiling hard in his gut.

“Pidge…” He mutters, but she doesn’t hear him. He stiffens, frozen in place by the sudden onslaught of negative vibes that he doesn’t know what to do with, as he watches the light flood out from the platform. It reaches the four pillars and starts crackling and splintering up the dark material like jagged veins. “Pidge…” he repeats, feeling like his heart is lodged in his throat. She’s not paying any attention, too busy scanning the platform and talking to Coran, or Shiro, or somebody. He can’t really hear any of them over his coms with the ringing in his ears.

He watches in wide eyed horror as the light reaches the tops of the pillars and the tips of the claw-like structures start to spark. The light pulsing in the room gets heavier, more noticeable. He sees it, but Pidge looks oblivious. The sparks get bigger, forming some sort of ball of crackling energy at the tips, pointed right down at the platform— right where Pidge is standing.

“Pidge!” Lance shouts, voice cracking as he forces it past the lump in his throat. There’s shouting in his ears, over the coms, but he can’t hear them.

Pidge’s head whips up then, finally taking in her surroundings. Her eyes setting on one pillar, then the next, turning in a small half circle and staring wide eyed, mouth open, as the energy builds. She looks so small then, and he’s reminded just how young she really is. So small and young and vulnerable and frozen in place.

Something in him snaps, and he’s suddenly moving, hurling himself forward. “ _Pidge!_ ” Her name is ripped from him as he barrels into her, bodily knocking her off the platform. He’s about to leap after her, but there’s a flash of light, a crackle of energy—

Everything goes white.

He burns, from hot or cold, he doesn’t know. He just _burns_ , every nerve ending alive and firing. He thinks he hears shouting, but he can’t tell from who and he can’t hear what they’re saying. The ringing in his ears is too loud. Nausea hits him hard, along with vertigo and dizziness. All at once, all so strong, all overwhelming. He feels _wrong_ , his body too tight, stretched, shrunken.

He _burns_ , and then he’s numb, and everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

 

_Hot. Cold. Pain. Numb. Everything. Overwhelming. Too much. Too much. Nothing. Empty. Not enough. Not enough. Stretch. Pull. Shrink. Push. Explode. Implode. Floating. Drifting. Lost. Falling. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

_Wrong…_

_Nothing… floating… numb… slow… empty… peace…_

_EVERYTHING… FALLING… BURNING… FAST… FULL… CHAOS…_

_Burning. Burning. Burning. Tight. Tense. Stretching. Falling. Speeding. Burning._

_Light._

_Bright._

_White._

Lance jerks to consciousness with all the grace and dignity of a wave crashing into a cliffside. He feels like he’s shoved into consciousness, slammed into his body with enough force to leave him staggering. Staggering, because apparently he’s on his feet. What the fuck? Who falls asleep on their feet? _Had_ he been asleep? Doesn’t matter now, because sleep or not, he feels like he’s been slapped awake.

Awake, but extremely dizzy. The whole world spins and dips as vertigo hits him hard, and his eyes can’t really focus on anything in particular. He feels nauseous, stomach violently heaving. His chest feels tight, too tight, just like his skin. Is it possible for his skin to feel too tight? Well, it does. Oversensitive like he can feel everything. There’s a ringing in his ears that does nothing to help him get his bearings.

After a moment, which, he’s kind of proud of being able to stand for that long, his knees buckle and he collapses. The surface beneath him is cold to the touch, blissful against his heated skin, and the gentle humming is soothing.

And just as quickly as it had hit him, it begins to fade. The nausea settles. His chest loosens. He’s able to breathe, which clears his head. The room stops spinning. His eyes can focus. His skin settles back into feeling normal and not oversensitive. The ringing in his ears begins to fade, and in it’s wake, he hears voices.

“ _That_ is what it felt like!” Pidge snaps, a groan trailing on the end.

“Oooh, man, I think I’m going to—“ Hunk cuts himself off, and there’s some shuffling before there’s the all too familiar sound of Hunk losing it. Poor guy. Lance can’t blame him though. Whatever that was, it was terrible.

“You alright, Hunk?” Shiro asks, sounding as physically exhausted as Lance feels.

“Yeah, I’m fine—“ His words trail off into a long groan, but at least he doesn’t puke again. “You went through that _twice_? I feel like I barely survived _once_.”

“Yeah,” Pidge says dryly. “Tell me about it.”

Lance groans, rolling onto his side and squeezing his eyes shut for a second. When he opens them, he tries to get ahold of his surroundings. They’re in… a cave? A cave with bright glowing veins crawling up the walls? That’s… new. He tilts his head around to see four metal claws rising out of the ground, curling around him in the open air, crystals imbedded and glowing in their centers. They hover over him in a way that feels almost menacing, and he shivers, looking away. He’s lying on… a platform? With glowing symbols? Weird.

His eyes trail around the room. He can see his team. Well, some of them, anyway. Only Hunk and Pidge are in his line of sight. He tilts his head a little further, and— yup, there’s Keith, too. Everyone’s in their paladin armor, which is strange, because Lance doesn’t feel like he’s in his. A quick glance down and— yup, sure enough, he’s not. He’s dressed in his official diplomatic formal attire. Why would he— Kolar! They were on the planet Kolar, and they saved it, and there was a party, and Lance was putting the moves on this hot alien, and then they all went back to the castle ship, and then— nothing.

Why is he here?

Weird.

Maybe the others know. It isn’t like him to just pass out like that, but… weirder things have happened.

“How’re you doing, princess?” Comes Shiros voice, soft and concerned.

“I’m fine, Shiro. Whatever it was, the effects are already fading.” What is Allura doing down here with them? This must be a pretty big mission then, so why the _fuck_ can’t he remember?

“Which brings me back to my original question,” Pidge says, sounding extremely disgruntled. He watches as she pushes herself to a sitting position, shaking her head with one hand to her helmet. “What _was_ that?”

“And the more important question,” Keith adds, sounding like his usual grumpy self as he gets to his feet. “Where is _Lance_?”

Lance scoffs, pushing himself into a sitting position and holding a hand to his head. There’s a dull ache behind his eyes, but at least he’s not dizzy anymore. “You got mullet in your eyes or what? I’m right here.” He grumbles, and _damn_ , does his voice sound wrecked. It’s all scratchy and hoarse, and he’d kill for a cup of water right about now.

He’s glaring at Keith, so he sees the moment the red paladin’s head snaps up, eyes widening comically as they focus on him. His mouth drops open, and he barely hears the whispered. “Lance…” And then louder, nearly a shout. “Lance!” And Lance’s brain must not be up to full capacity yet, either that or Keith just move really fast, because one moment Keith is rushing him, and the next he’s wrapped up in the dude’s arms.

Like on a Hunk level of a hug. Arms tight around him, holding him to his chest, which isn’t all too comfortable given the paladin armor. His head is situated over Keith’s shoulder, and he just kind of blinks in surprise, watching the wide grins spread across the faces of his other teammates as they rush over to them.

And yeah, he’s glad his team is happy to see him and all, but that doesn’t really explain why Keith is hugging him— no, it’s bordering on _holding_ him now. Not just a simple hug. There’s something desperate and tender about it and it’s kind of causing his brain to short circuit a little bit because _what the fuck_?

His arms kinda just… hang uselessly at his sides as he surrenders into Keith’s hug because he’s really not sure what else to do.

Then Keith is relaxing his death grip, readjusting his hold, and then suddenly Lance finds himself leaning up against Keith’s chest, Keith’s arm around his back for support, and more or less half in the guy’s lap. A gloved hand brushes fingers gently through his hair as Keith knocks the front of his helmet against Lance’s forehead.

“What have I told you about worrying me like that, you asshole…” He mutters under his breath, so softly that only they can hear it, and voice filled with so much fondness and relief that it leaves Lance feeling dizzy all over again because _what the fuck?_ This is _Keith!_ Keith is never soft and tender and _fond_! Not when it comes to _him!_

He finds the odd change of pace to be more jarring and disorienting that the whole no memory thing.

Keith is so relaxed and Lance is so stiff, and the moment drags on with this odd sense of tension that just keeps building, tightening, taut like a bowstring—

And then Hunk, bless his soul, dissolves the tension before Lance snaps.

“Lance! Buddy! You’re okay—“ He stops when he reaches the edge of the platform, arms out like he’s about to scoop up both of them into a crushing hug. As he stares, confusion colors his features, and his arms slowly drop to his sides. “Uh, what’re you wearing?”

Lance raises an eyebrow and glances down. Yeah, he’d like to know why he’s not suited up, too. He looks back up. “Uh, we were just at a party, dude. I’d like to know how all of _you_ got into your armor so fast.”

“Party?” Allura echoes.

“What do you mean got into our armor quickly?” Shiro asks, coming up beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

With the exception of Keith, they’re all standing around the platform, staring blankly at him, and he shifts uncomfortably under the weight of their combined gazes. As he looks between them, his confusion deepens because—

“Is your _armor_ different? Did we get an upgrade? What does mine look like— Allura, did you cut your hair—?”

Before they can respond, there’s an earthquake. He jumps, and Keith’s arms tighten around him. He’s still pressed up against Keith’s chest, which he finds ridiculously intimate despite the heavy plates of armor between them. He feels heat rising up his neck to settle on his cheeks, but he doesn’t really have time to dwell on that because the ground is shaking violently, a deep groan beneath their feet that’s almost hidden by the crumple of rocks cascading around them. It lasts far too long for comfort before it stops.

“What the hell was _that_?” He asks, voice a little higher than normal.

“The planet we’re on is dying.” Allura says matter-of-factly, but with this strange edge of caution that he’s never had directed at him before.

“Lance…” Pidge’s voice is wary, and boy, he does _not_ like all this confusion and nervousness directed at him. He’s just as confused as they are! He’s a victim here! “You were… you _know_ that… don’t you?”

He’s not really feeling up to fighting Keith’s hold right now, even though he can’t quite bring himself to look at him, so he just relaxes into it. He raises a hand to run through his hair, digging the heel of his palm into one eyes. “To be honest, I don’t _know_ what I know. We were at the party, everything was fine, we got back to the ship, then I remember… pain? Weird vertigo kinda. Then…. nothing, then… I was here?”

He looks around at the faces of his friends, of his team. They’re all staring at him… oddly. Their expressions are pinched, closed off, wary, and it hurts. It’s like they’re looking at a stranger, but he’s not! It’s just him! They’re the ones being weird in their armor and in some _cave_. He risks a glance up at Keith, and even he’s staring at Lance like he barely recognizes him, face blank as the wheels turn behind those dark eyes. His expression gives away nothing. But even as his frown deepens, his arms around Lance tighten, and it’s still a weird thing, but right now, it’s the only comfort he’s got.

“Guys…” He says slowly, cautiously. He wants to glare at them, be defensive, brush this off, but… fear is creeping up his spine, cold as ice. He doesn’t know what’s happening, and it’s extremely worrying. He does his best to choke down the dread and keep a level voice. “Where are we? What’s going on?”

“We’re on Ecnes,” Pidge says, voice carefully neutral. “We’re here to investigate a distress beacon? We followed energy signatures down here? You… you knocked me out of the way and— you disappeared?”

Lance just gapes at her. He doesn’t remember _any_ of that. He tries to form words, but they kinda just come out as strangled sounds because he doesn’t know _what_ to say.

“You don’t… remember that? Buddy?” Hunk says like he’s approaching a wounded animal. Lance’s eyes snap to his, big and worried and… why does Hunk’s face look different? Not… drastically different, and it’s hard to tell with his helmet on and everything, but…

“Lance, where’s your paladin armor?” Shiro asks, and Lance’s attention whips around to him. Why does Shiro look so much… older? Not necessarily physically, but his eyes. He looks tired. More than usual.

“I… I wasn’t wearing it?” He manages to say, hating how small his voice sounds. Without really realizing it, he shrinks back against Keith’s chest, and the arms around him squeezes briefly. “We were…” He looks around at his teammates, noticing differences in their faces that are so similar yet so subtly different. “The party…? Why are we on a planet that’s _dying_?”

Pidge gestures to the platform he’s sitting on, to the claw-like pillars that rise above them ominously. “We followed the energy signatures down here. Lance, you were _with me_.” She’s sounding a little desperate, voice cracking at the end. He’s not used to seeing Pidge sound… panicked.

“Coran,” Allura says abruptly, eyes roaming over the machine around them. “Can you do a scan of the energy blast that just came from this area? Any information on it?”

He doesn’t have his helmet, but he’s close enough to Keith that he can just barely make out Coran’s voice. “No can do, princess. Whatever it was seems to have scrambled the scanners! I might be able to figure out the use of such energy, but it will take a while.”

The ground rumbles again, more rocks crumbling down from the ceiling, and everyone glances around nervously.

“We need to get out of here.” Shiro says, firm, solid, leader-y. It’s familiar and comforting in a way Lance didn’t know he needed right now. “We can figure this out later.”

“No!” Pidge snaps, throwing out her arms to gesture to the cavern. “What about all this technology? We need to save it! It has something to do with what happened to Lance!”

The earth rumbled again, more violently, more groaning deep beneath them. “No time.” Shiro snaps. “We need to get to safety. Lance is right. Being underground isn’t the smartest thing right now.”

“I agree with Shiro.” Hunk says, glancing around nervously as he bounces from foot to foot. “I’m pretty sure this planet won’t be around for much longer, and I would _really_ like to be back on the ship when it collapses.”

“But what about—“ Pidge starts.

“Pidge,” Shiro says firmly, and Pidge’s face scrunches up into a stern pout. Shiro’s voice softens. “I know you’re worried, but we don’t have the time to stick around. Do as many scans on this place as you can and we’ll analyze the data back on the ship.”

Her expression hardens into something along the lines of determination and she nods. “Right. On it. Hunk, help me.”

And then the two of them set off to hurriedly scan as much of the strange contraption as they can. Allura stands nearby, talking with Coran, face pinched with worry. Shiro steps up onto the platform and kneels next to them.

“How’re you doing, Lance?” He asks, voice soft and kind and really, _really_ comforting. Lance finds himself relaxing as he gives the man a small smile.

“Pfff, me? I’m cool. Cool as ice. Heh, get it? Blue paladin and all. Don’t worry about me, Shiro, it’s all goooood. I just… don’t remember anything, heh, that’s _fine_. Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’s happened. We’ll figure it out.” He can’t stop babbling, and as he does, his voice gets progressively higher. He hates it, but it won’t stop. He’s low-key panicking… at least he wants it to be low-key.

A squeeze of a hand on his arm quiets him, and he looks up to see Keith still staring at him. And he wishes Keith would just say _something_ instead of staring at him with that unreadable expression and those eyes that just _stare_. Another hand lands on his shoulder, and he looks to Shiro, who’s smiling softly, eyes warm. “It’s okay, buddy. We’ll figure this out. I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

Lance smiles, and it feels a lot less forced. “Thanks, Shiro.”

“The party….” It’s Keith who speaks. The first thing he’s said in a while, and both Lance and Shiro look to him. His brows are pinched, lines forming around his mouth as he frowns. “You said you were at a party… what planet was that on?”

Lance scrunches up his nose in thought, trying to pick back through his memories even though everything feels fuzzy and thick… “Kolar, I think… Yeah, yeah, that was it. We saved them and then helped them rebuild a little bit, then they threw us a party and I was chatting up this babe all night and you and Shiro had to carry around the priest guy, which was hilarious because he kept kicking you in the— uh, guys?”

Keith is staring at him, eyes wide and lips parted. He’s not even trying to hide his surprise and mounting horror. His eyes flicker to Shiro. “Shiro, the… do you remember— the time Lance switched— the future—“ He can’t seem to form complete thoughts, but that doesn’t seem to matter.

Lance watches Shiro’s face as confusion lights up with recognition, which promptly fades to shock, then shifts to worry. “Oh, no…” It’s a whisper, and that makes Lance more worried than anything.

“What?” He says, looking between them. “Did I… did I do something wrong? Guys? What’s happening?”

“Did you say Kolar?” Pidge’s voice cuts in, blank and coated in surprise. And when he looks at her, her expression mirrors Keith’s and Shiro’s.

“Guys?” Lance asks a little more urgently, voice a little higher.

“Oh, no, you mean that time—“ Hunk cuts himself off, gulping visibly as he stares wide-eyed at Lance. “I had forgotten about that. Oh no…”

“I did, too.” Shiro says, eyes suddenly critical as he frowns thoughtfully. “How could we forget that?”

“Are we sure that’s what’s happening now?” Pidge asks, suddenly behind Shiro, eyeing Lance critically. “He looks pretty much the same.”

Before he can question them again, there’s a hand on his chin, gloved fingers gently turning his head until he’s face to face with Keith. His hand gently cups his jaw as those dark eyes roam over his face, critical and analyzing but with this odd soft edge to it that has Lance shuttering. His brows are pinched just a little in concentration, his lips tipped downward. Lance tries not to fidget under the weight of his gaze.

Then Keith’s fingers ghost along his neck, trailing up the side of it, over his jaw, cupping his jaw in his palm, thumb gently caressing his cheekbone. His eyes trail the movement of his fingers, and Lance can’t help but stare at him in utter confusion, lips parted in shock. When was Keith _ever_ this gentle with him?

Then Keith’s eyes snap to his, and he jumps, suddenly held captive by those beautiful navy eyes. Has he ever noticed the flecks of violet in his irises? He doesn’t think he has, and he doesn’t know why he notices now, but he files that information away for later.

“He’s not our Lance.” Keith mutters, voice soft and weirdly choked with emotion that Lance can’t begin to name.

Then the words sink in, and Lance feels an ache in his chest. He slaps Keith’s hand away from his face, glaring at him. “What’s _that_ supposed mean? I _am_ Lance! What the hell is your problem, Keith?”

Keith’s lips twist into a deeper frown, eyes suddenly guarded. But it’s Shiro who speaks. “Are you sure, Keith?”

Keith nods. “It’s not him…”

Lance glares at him, shoving at his chest. “Who the hell else am I supposed to be then, mullet?”

Keith doesn’t break eye contact, nor does his flinch. “Lance,” He says, and there’s a weight of seriousness in his voice that holds him captive. “You’re in the future.”

Lance just gapes at him, the moment stretches, and then laughter bubbles up and bursts past his lips. “Oh, _man_ , Keith! You really had be going there for a second!” But his laughter quickly dies when Keith’s face doesn’t change. “…Keith?”

“I’m afraid he’s not joking, Lance.” Shiro says, grip on his shoulder tightening. “And our Lance is in the past with your team.”

He’s having trouble processing. “Guys, this isn’t funny—“

He’s cut off when the earth beneath then heaves again, more violently and without signs of stopping. A chunk of the ceiling falls, and Hunk has to leap out of the way. “Uh, guys? Can we do this later? When we’re not on a _dying planet_?”

“But I—“

“Lance,” Pidge cuts him off. “I know it’s hard to believe, but please just— just believe us. We’ll try to figure this out later.”

“Paladins!” Allura calls, urgency clear as her voice cuts over the sound of rumbling. “We need to go! _Now_.”

There are hands on him, _Keith’s_ hands, trying to help him to his feet, but he only manages a few steps before his knees buckle again. Arms catch him, and he leans heavily against hard armor. His mind is buzzing, ears ringing. _The future?_ How can he— how is that—? The ground continues to shake and quake, making it harder for him to keep his balance. He can barely focus. His thoughts are chaos. Pieces of what his team has said fly through his mind, none of them sticking. All the things he noticed, all his fuzzy memories. They mash and collide and made no sense. They won’t stay still. They won’t solidify. They wisp like smoke, run like water. He can’t make sense of anything. He can’t focus. It’s too much— too much.

_Future?_

He thinks he might have blacked out for a moment, because the next thing he knows, he’s being carried, flashes of red and white in his peripheral vision. Everything is shaking, rumbling, crumbling. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they’re in one of the lions. The cockpit is yellow, and he can vaguely make out Hunk’s form in the chair. He still feels like he’s being held, but he doesn’t dwell on it. The forces of the hasty piloting shift him around, but an arm stays firmly latched around him, and he doesn’t move too much.

There’s a lot of shouting, a lot of voices over the coms in the cockpit, but he can’t make much sense of them. He’s so dizzy, so tired…. so very, very tired.

He closes his eyes and feels the claws of unconsciousness digging into him. He tries to fight it, but the relief is so much better than the pain and confusion of being awake.

_Future?_

He hears voices. The rumbling and shifting has stopped. He feels oddly still, and it makes his skin tingle. He drifts in and out.

“—you sure?”

“Yes—”

“—can’t believe we forgot—“

“—still feels fuzzy. I can’t really—“

“—do we do—?”

“—till he wakes—“

“—look at the scans—“

“—planet is gone—!”

“—have to make do—“

“—tell him—?”

“—not him—“

“—still Lance!—just younger—“

“—what about— you guys—“

“—can’t tell him—“

“—okay with that, Keith—?”

“Yes…”

He’s moving again. He tries to open his eyes, but everything is bright, too bright, it hurts. He closes his eyes and groans, turning his head into the warm next to him. Arms around him, holding him, moving. Smells of sweat and warmth but it’s not unpleasant. Sounds. Foot steps. Swoosh of a door. Something soft, familiar, bed. He curls into it, feel a light comforting weight draped over him. Fingers in his hair. Something warm and soft pressed to his forehead. A caress on his cheek.

He sighs, finally giving in and letting exhaustion drag him down into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["Ghost of the Future"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/21934646)  
> [My Tumblr](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Bo's Tumblr](http://www.zizzani.tumblr.com)  
> 


	2. And Yet So Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team struggles to come up with a plan to switch the Lances back after the planet Ecnes collapsed. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Lance attempts to ground himself in the fact that he's in the future by trying to focus on the similarities and differences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, my dudes, thank you all for the overwhelming support so far! We hope you guys continue to enjoy the journey ^^
> 
> If you haven't already, when you're done with this chapter, please go read the second chapter of the mirror fic [Ghost of the Future](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/21934646) to see how Future Lance is doing in the past!
> 
> I believe Bo is also going to be working on art for these chapters, so I'll update here when she's finished!

Unlike the last time, Lance’s climb to consciousness is like wading through molasses. It’s a slow progress, the blanket of sleep thick and warm. His mind fights through the haze, dreams clinging to him like a second skin, obscuring his senses and thoughts. Even as he wakes, sleep has it’s claws in him, threatening to drag him back down.

Drowsy and groggy, he groans, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes hard with the heels of his hands.

It’s then that he realizes that he hadn’t slept with his eye mask on. Or his face mask.

That, in and of itself, isn’t too abnormal. There have been plenty of nights where he had been too tired to deal with anything. But it’s out of place enough for him to start noticing other things

Like how he isn’t wearing the headphones he had stolen from Pidge, which leaves the room oddly and uncomfortably silent, save for the gentle hum of energy from the ship.

Or like how he definitely isn’t wearing his delightfully silky and super cozy pajamas. No, his clothes are stiff, stuffy, twisted, and extremely uncomfortable, especially now that he’s noticed. At least, he notes, he’s not wearing his shoes.

Or like how his bed doesn’t quite smell right. It’s an odd thing to notice, and he can’t quite put his finger on it, but it definitely smells different. Not bad, just _different_ , and that’s enough to put him on edge.

He slips his hand down his face, far enough to peek through his fingers. His room doesn’t _look_ any different. Same bed, same blanket, same pillow, same metal walls, same metal floor, same metal door. His robe is hanging on the far wall like it always is when he’s not wearing it. The only thing out of place is him and what he’s wearing. Speaking of which… he throws the blanket back, propping himself up on his elbows as he stares down at his… formal clothes? Why the hell is he wearing his formal clothes? No fucking wonder he’s uncomfortable.

He sits up, running a hand through his hair and scratching the back of his neck. He must have been exhausted. There’s no other reason for why he’d fall asleep like this. But he can’t quite summon up the memories. Trying to think about yesterday is like trying to remember a dream. His memories are hazy and dragged down by the thick fog of sleep that still clouds his mind.

Kolar? They had been on Kolar, right? Yeah, they had saved the planet, helped clean up, and had a party. He remembers getting back to the ship, sitting around with the gang, and then… dizziness? Darkness. He must have been super exhausted.

Kicking the blanket away from his legs, he swings them over the side of the bed and stands. Another groan is dragged from his lips. His body feels _wrecked_. His muscles ache, his skin feels gross and tight, and there’s an ache deep in his joints that beg to be popped. He squeezes his eyes shut, stretching his arms high above his head and bending backwards until his back pops. He relaxes with a sigh, but it’s not enough.

So since there’s no blaring castle alarms and no friends pounding on his door for attention, Lance decides to take the time to really work through a morning yoga routine. He holds each pose, pushes his body, feels the pop in his joints, relishes in the burn of his muscles. And the whole time he focuses on his breathing, letting his mind clear in a way that’s usually so hard to do. His mind is usually _loud_ , and it’s hard to block everything out, but with how off he feels right now, he takes the time to try. His memory is still fuzzy, mind seeming to work at half speed, and there’s a building worry about that, but he pushes that to the wayside for the time being. By the end of his yoga session, he already feels much more relaxed, physically and mentally.

He strips out of his clothes and haphazardly tosses them into the metal hamper that’ll automatically wash them before dragging his feet to his bathroom. A long, hot shower is exactly what he needs.

He yawns as the door slides open, scratching idly at his cheek and jaw. He glances in the mirror, idly noting that he doesn’t look too bad for feeling like shit, and then freezes, eyes drawn downward. There’s a wide counter there with the Altean version of a sink. That’s not abnormal. Nor if the fact that there are various bottles and containers lined neatly along the counter. He takes pride in his collection of skin care and beauty products.

What _is_ abnormal, however, is the sheer quantity of bottles. That, and the fact that he doesn’t recognize over half of them. There’s some pretty weird containers, too. They’re in all shapes and sizes imaginable, plus some he’s pretty sure he never would have imagined to begin with. He hesitantly picks up a few of them and realizes that the writing on them is _definitely_ something he’s never seen before. Nor do they all match. It’s like a cacophony of alien products that he’s never seen in his life.

Not that he’s _complaining_ that his stash has damn near tripled over night, but he doesn’t know _anything_ about these products, and the fact that they’re there at all is a little concerning.

Then it all comes flooding back to him like a dam breaking, letting loose the flood that sweeps through his mind, threatening to drown him. It’s cold, and it cuts through the fog like a knife, washing it all away and leaving only crystal clear understanding.

He feels like the air is knocked from his lungs with enough force to leave him staggering. His hands shoot out, catching the counter and holding himself up. He gasps, ragged and desperate in his attempt to fill this lungs again. He stares at his own reflection, seeing the way his expression is contorted into horrified shock.

_Kolar. The nauseating feeling of being displaced. The emptiness. The darkness. The numbness. The burning. The light. Being in that glowing cave. The planet dying. Being with his team. Keith holding him. The expressions on his friends’ faces._

_The future?_

His gaze is dragged downward to the array of bottles neatly lining his countertop. He thinks back to how he had woken up, to the ragged clippings of memories that slipped through his mind before he had fallen asleep. With shaking fingers he reaches out, picking up a bottle, eyes trailing along the unfamiliar script. He looks back to himself, acceptance bleeding slow and steady into his understanding.

_The future._

Weirder things have happened, right? He would roll with it for now. There’s not much else he _can_ do, right? Never let it be said that Lance McClain can’t roll with the punches. It’s what he’s been doing his entire life. And if it turns out that the whole future thing is just a dream? Well, then he’ll laugh it off and everything will be normal again anyway.

The realization has left him tense all over again. This time with the added affect of shaking hands and weak knees. So his shower ends up a lot longer than he had originally intended. Luckily, the ship is excellent with keeping up a steady temperature.

By the time he staggers back into his room with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, he’s feeling infinitely more human and infinitely more awake.

The future? Pffff, he can handle the future. Bring it on. He didn’t really have time to mentally prepare for this, but _really_ he feels bad for the future not having the time to prepare for _him_.

He automatically shuffles to the section of the wall that hides his closet, and slaps his hand against the discreet button. The section of the wall slides open, revealing… a lot more clothes than he had previously. A _lot_ more clothes, in fact. With the castle’s ability to clean and launder clothes quickly and efficiently, they don’t really need a lot. But here he is, staring at a wide variety of outfits and costumes that his future self must have accumulated over the years… year? Months? It occurs to him for the first time that he doesn’t even know exactly how _far_ into the future he’s traveled. His friends had looked relatively the same, but…

He shakes his head. Questions for later. For now: clothes.

He idly shuffles through the clothes, noting what’s the same and what’s different. About halfway down the line, he notices a change. The color scheme and overall design of the clothes are… different. It’s subtle but definitely there. And there’s definitely more black and red than he usually has in his own wardrobe. Honestly, they look like things he’d find in— Yup, sure enough, he comes across Keith’s formal diplomat outfits. He’d recognize those anywhere. Not that he’s always _looking_ at Keith, but the differences in the paladin outfits are pretty noticeable. Especially with the color schemes. It’s not like he’s spent time staring at _Keith_.

But still, the fact that Keith’s clothes are in _his_ closet is… weird.

In the end, he settles on his usual outfit. Nothing like the classics of home to make him feel more comfortable in his own skin. He’s going to need that comfort if he’s going to face whatever’s on the other side of his door. As he steps up to it, he takes a deep breath to calm himself and steel himself for whatever he’s about to face.

 

* * *

 

 His trek through the castle is slow and methodical. He keeps jumping at every noise, eyes darting everywhere, trying to find anything and everything that are out of place or different. But as it turns out… not much has changed. It still looks like the same ship he’s been on for a while now. Maybe the creaks and groans are a little different, but he’s never paid particular attention to them before, so he could just be projecting.

He doesn’t really know where he’s going, but when he realizes his route is aimed toward the dining room, he’s not really surprised. It’s where he usually goes on mornings where there isn’t an emergency or training. As he nears it, he feels jittery. Its a strange mix of hope and apprehension. Hope that the whole future thing will have been a dream, and apprehension that it’s real. It coils in his gut, tight and tense, rising up to threaten to choke him. His chest feels tight with anticipation, like a hand squeezing tighter on his heart with every step he takes.

But as he nears the dining room, he hears voices. They’re muffled and dull through the metal of the door, but they’re familiar, and that spreads a warmth through him, melting the ice in his veins. Future or not, this is his _team_. His _friends_ …. right?

Taking a deep breath and stuffing his hands into his pockets to keep them from fidgeting, he slaps an easy smirk across his face and steps up to the door. It slides open with a _swoosh_. He steps in, letting doors close behind him as he pauses.

“Morning,” He drawls, letting his posture sag, his smile fixed firmly in place. Easy, cool, chill, that’s him.

There’s only two people in the room: Pidge and Keith, and at his entrance, both of their heads snap up, voices immediately cutting off whatever they were talking about. The room is thrown into an awkward and tense silence as they stare and he stares right back.

Pidge is sitting on the table, cross legged with her laptop in her lap. Her hair is long enough to be haphazardly pulled up into a messy ponytail, but still short enough in some places that strands spring lose. She’s wearing a thin headband to keep most of it from her face, but it just makes her hair stick up more. She sat up straight when he came in, and is staring at him with wide, owlish eyes from behind the frames of her glasses.

Keith is sitting nearby in one of the chairs. Slouching back, legs crossed at the knee, arms crossed over his chest in his typical Keith stance. What _isn’t_ typical, however, is that his hair is also pulled back into a ponytail (has his hair gotten longer?), and he’s also wearing one of those headbands, pulling everything back from his face. Lance isn’t really sure if he’s ever seen all of Keith’s face like this, all of his features, both sharp and soft and in the open, eyes wide, thick brows raised slightly, lips parted— it’s… it’s something alright.

“Lance…” Keith says, but it’s so soft that Lance _sees_ it more than hears it.

It’s almost immediately covered up by Pidge’s more normal but still oddly cautious, “Morning.”

Lance shifts his weight, looking away as he lifts a fist to his mouth and clears his throat. “So, uh, how’s it going?” He says, shuffling over to the table and trying to make his steps seem normal and not as measured as they are.

He throws himself into the chair at the end of the table, a good few seats from where Keith is sitting. Neither of them are saying anything, so he puts his elbows on the table, looking between them. Keith’s expression has soured a little bit, brows furrowing and lips forming that tiny frown he does when he doesn’t like something.

Lance’s eyes narrow automatically. “What?” And yeah, okay, that came out a little more aggressively defensive than he had anticipated. But he just got thrown into the future! He’s allowed to be grumpy!

Keith blinks, looking almost surprised to be called out, then his frown deepens a fraction as he looks away. “Nothing.”

He frowns, but doesn’t push it. Instead, he turns back at Pidge. For some reason she’s easier to deal with than Keith. Her brows furrow, lips pursing slightly as she adjusts her glasses. “I think a better question is how are _you_ doing?”

He leans back, propping his feet up on the table and crossing his fingers behind his head. He smiles. “Me? I’m cool as ice. You know, it’s kinda my thing.” He says, waggling his eyebrows for good measure.

Pidge snorts and rolls her eyes, back slouching as she once again hunches over her computer. “At least we know it’s really him…” She mumbles.

At that, his grin wides. “The one and only.” He makes a long, languid motion with his hand, gesturing up and down his body. “You can’t fake this kind of perfection.”

“It’s him alright.” Keith says, eyes turning back to him. “No one else can be nearly as conceded.” He says, but it lacks any of the usual bite or even dry flatness that usually accompanies Keith’s insults. No, his voice sounds like he’s _trying_ to keep it flat, but there’s a teasing and playful edge that he can’t hide.

It throws Lance for such a loop that when he opens his mouth to respond, nothing comes out. So instead he snaps it shut, crosses his arms over his chest with a huff, and looks away.

Stupid Keith.

“Either way, it’s good to have you back, Lance.” Pidge says, voice small and earnest. She’s back to typing at her laptop and isn’t looking at him.

He blinks at her. “Did I… go somewhere?”

And suddenly she’s staring at him again, looking as confused as he felt. “You, uh… you don’t remember?” She bites her bottom lip and exchanges a worried glance with Keith before looking back to him. “About what happened? About… where you are?”

Lance knows what she’s getting at, and he idly waves a hand around in the air. “No, no, I remember the whole _I’m in the future_ thing.” He really hopes his voice cracking wasn’t noticeable. He’s trying really hard to be nonchalant about this, but it’s a lot to swallow. “I just meant… you said it’s nice to have me back? Was I— the other me— future me? Was he gone?”

Pidge stares at him for a moment longer, face contorting into something pained. “You were— he was—“ Her voice is oddly quiet, choked with emotion. She clears her throat, sits up a little straighter, and when she speaks again, it’s back to being calm and matter-of-fact. “After you— he— disappeared, it was a couple hours before you showed up. We were starting to get worried.”

He’s not really a fan of the tension in the room, so he cocks his head to the side and hits her with a teasing smile. “Aww, you missed me?”

She glares. “I’m starting to wonder why.”

“ _Rude_.”

They lapse into a silence. Pidge looks back to her computer, fingers typing away. He watches as a tiny crease appears between her brows, tip of her tongue peeking out to push against her upper lip. There’s a cup of something or another next to her, but it’s no doubt forgotten. There’s one in front of Keith, too, and he picks it up, idly sipping at it while he stares at the table. With his hair all pushed back like that, Lance can see the tick in his temple from him clenching his jaw.

Without much in the way of conversation to distract him, Lance glances around. This room, like the rest of the castle he’s seen so far, looks exactly the same. It would be so, so easy for him to just… _believe_ that he’s in his own time. If it weren’t for the solid weight in his gut telling him otherwise.

“Soooooo…” He says, putting his feet on the floor to lean forward. He rests his arms on the table and idly slapping at the surface. “The future, huh?”

“Yup.” Keith says without looking up.

“Well, actually,” Pidge says, lifting her head to look between them. “This is _our_ present. From our point of view, _you’re_ from the past.”

Lance blinks, mouth forming a small circle. His hands still for a moment, and he hums thoughtfully. “Good point.” He tilts his head to the side. “So then… how far into the future am I anyway? Or, uh… how far into your past?”

“One year.” Keith says automatically, voice sounding far away. He’s staring into his cup, swirling around the contents.

Both eyebrows go up at that. “Really?”

Pidge nods. “Almost exactly.”

“Was that… intentional?” They both give him incredulous looks, and he leans back, throwing up his hands defensively. “Not by _you_ guys, but by like… whatever brought me here?”

The two of them exchange looks, expressions almost unreadable. They both seem to shrug at the same time.

“Could be.” Pidge says.

“We don’t know.” Keith sets his cup down, arm returning to cross over his chest as he slouches further in his seat. “We don’t know anything about the machine that did it.”

“But we’re going to found out.” Pidge says firmly, lips pursing as she sends Keith a small glare. But there’s worry in that expression.

“So what happened to— to future me?”

There’s that silent exchange again. Pidge clears her throat, turning to look at him directly. “We don’t know.”

Lance gaps at her. “You don’t _know_ —“

“We have reason to believe he’s in the past, in your place. We think you guys were… switched.”

“… switched? How is that possible?”

Pidge makes a frustrated noise and waves both hands around wildly, gesturing vaguely to her computer and the space around her. “I don’t know! It’s not like that stupid alien tech came with a _manual_! It doesn’t help that the planet literally _collapsed_ , so all we have to go on are the scans I took, and I have to somehow find a way to get you to back to your appropriate time lines, and—“

“Pidge,” Keith says, firm but not sharp. She looks at him, eyes wide and frantic, hands frozen in the air in what had been a frustrated gesture. “Calm down.” He says slowly, with enough calm himself that Lance can feel his _own_ uneasiness oozing out of him. Pidge, likewise, relaxes, panic ebbing away. “We’ll find a way. We always do.”

She sighs, shoulders slumping and arms falling. “You’re right,” She gives him a small smile. “Thanks, Keith.”

And Keith smiles back, and it’s not like he’s never seen Keith smile before, but there’s something about this smile that’s so…. _genuine_. He doesn’t really know how to process it, so he turns his attention back to Pidge. “Besides! It’s not like you have to do it alone.” They both look at him, faces blank in mild surprise. He tries not to fidget. “Uh, cause you’ve got Hunk and Coran, too. They’re both wicked smart. And the rest of us, too, I guess, but we’re not as good with the gadgets and what not…” He trails off, brows furrowing a little. “What?”

Pidge shakes her head, a small, lopsided smile curving her lips. “Nothing. You’re right. It’s just… you’re a lot like him…”

Lance’s frown only deepens. “Well, I _am_ him, so…”

Pidge hums thoughtfully, and Keith looks away. “Hmm, true, I guess. I don’t know, it just… keeps surprising me. Though I guess a year really isn’t that long ago.”

“Feels like forever…” Keith mumbles.

“It really does.” She agrees softly.

They both seems to trail off into their own thoughts, but Lance really doesn’t want to deal with the silence right now, so he tries again. “Soooo, what’s future me like?”

Pidge snorts, a smile creeping across her face. “Oh my god, well first of all, you wouldn’t _believe_ —“

“Pidge.” Keith snaps, and she turns to glare at him. He glares right back.

She eventually huffs, shoulders slumping. “You’re no fun…” She mumbles.

Lance frowns, draping his arms over the table as he slouches forward. “Keeeeith! Why’re you still such a stick in the mud!”

Keith just purses his lips into a small, thin line as he glares at him. “We’re not telling you anything about yourself.”

“Why nooooot?”

“We don’t want to disrupt the past by telling you about the future.”

Okay, so the mullet has a point. But Lance that doesn’t mean Lance is backing down. “Okay, but in all the disaster movies I’ve seen, you can only change the future in like, _half_ of them. In the other half, everything was meant to turn out that way anyway!” Lance smirks at him hopefully.

Keith’s expression doesn’t change. “We’re not telling you anything about yourself.”

Lance’s face falls, eyes narrowing slightly as he pouts. “Pidge is right, you’re no fun.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his seat. Pidge snorts, but doesn’t look up from her laptop. Her eyes are glued to the screen, looking red rimmed and eyelids drooping. There are dark bags under them. Add to that her slouching posture and slower-than-usual keystrokes and— “You look like shit.” He says.

Her eyes slide up to glare at him, and with her bangs pushed back, he gets the full extent of it. “Gee, thanks, Lance.” She deadpans.

“No, really, you look terrible.” He turns to Keith, noticing for the first time that he, too, looked more slouchy and grumpy than usual. With his hair pushed back, too, it’s easy to spot the dark spots under his eyes. “You _both_ do. Did you guys sleep at all last night?”

Pidge sighs, rubbing an eye with the heel of her hand. “Nope. I’ve been up all night reading over these scans.” As if on cue, she yawns widely, smacking her lips a little at the end. “Keith came in here a couple hours ago.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He mutters, staring at the table.

Lance smirks. “Awww, what’s the matter, mullet? Too worried about me to sleep?”

Keith lifts his head to glare at him then, lips pursed into a scowl. Lance is expecting a snappy comeback. He’s waiting for it. He already feels a sense of normalcy with Pidge, and he knows he’s seeking it with Keith. A few quick jabs and everything might just feel normal.

The jab never comes though. He just stares at him, something shifting in his eyes, so subtle and barely perceivable, but it gives his expression a pained edge.

“How’d you sleep, Lance?” Pidge asks, cutting through the tension. “You seem perky as ever.”

Lance’s smile is back as he looks at her. “Like a baby. I barely remember falling asleep.”

Pidge’s lips curl into a small smirk. “That’s probably because you passed out.”

Lance gasps, putting a hand to his chest dramatically. “I did not!” He knows there’s really no use in actually dying it. Judging from his scattered memories, it’s pretty clear he had basically blacked out.

“You did so. Keith had to carry you to bed.”

Lance scowls, but sneaks a glance at Keith. The other boy’s eyes are fixed firmly to the table top, lips pursed as a faint blush colors his cheeks. Lance looks away quickly, glaring at Pidge. “Yeah, well _you_ try going through a space time blender! It really messes with your head. I could barely remember anything this morning, and my room basically looks the same. I didn’t remember where— when?— I was until I saw all the bottles and stuff in my bathroom.”

Pidge chuckles softly under her breath, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, Keith has a habit of picking you up anything and everything that might be a beauty product where ever we go.”

Lance blinks, eyes sliding to Keith. “You… do?”

Keith’s shoulder lift a little as he sinks lower in his chair. He turns his head away. “Yeah, well, you’re always begging us to pick you up stuff, and you pout all day if we don’t…”

“Too bad Keith doesn’t know what the hell he’s looking for.” Pidge continues, grinning as their eyes spark with amusement. “I swear, half the time he ends up bringing you back explosives or the equivalent of space bleach. We usually end up finding a use for the stuff that isn’t really safe for human skin.”

Pidge’s grin is infectious, especially with the way Keith’s ears are turning red. He huffs, mumbling something under his breath. Lance finds himself laughing. “Oh man, that sounds like Keith alright. Good to know some things just don’t change.” He snaps his fingers, sitting up a little straighter as a thought occurs to him. “Oh! Speaking of change. Keith, why the hell are your clothes in my closet?”

Keith stiffens freezing for a moment before turning to stare at Pidge. His face is pinched, but his eyes are wide. Pidge, likewise, looks a little shocked, though her panic is significantly less. Something passes between them, and Keith turns to stare at him, expression falling into something more neutral. “My clothes?”

Lance lifts an eyebrow. Why is everyone so weird in the future? “Uh, yeah? Your clothes are in my closet. Unless those are my clothes and you’ve somehow infected future me and corrupted my fashion sense. Which, might I add, would be a travesty. There’s only enough room on this team for one emo.”

Keith looks just as surprised as Lance was that his clothes are in the wrong spot, like he’s not quite sure how to react to that. He seems to be at a loss for words, so Pidge speaks up before he can.

She clears her throat, drawing both of their attention. “That’s a bug in the castle’s system lately. It’s been sorting laundry wrong and mixing up everybody’s clothes. Hunk and I were gonna fix it soon but we got distracted with,” She waves a hand around in the air. “All of this.”

Lance makes a thoughtful hum, scratching his chin. “Ah, okay, that makes sense. For a second there I was thinking Keith was trying to play a prank on me or something.”

“How would that be a prank?” Keith deadpans.

Lance shrugs. “I dunno, like confuse the past guy sorta thing? I didn’t say it was a _good_ prank, but I wouldn’t be that surprised. It is _you_ after all.” He smirks at him, putting just enough playfulness in his tone that he knows goads Keith to rise to the bait. He waits for the return jab, but… it never comes. Keith only huffs and looks away. Lance can feel himself frowning, but he tries not to think about it too hard. He turns back to Pidge. “So is that why my jacket is missing?”

Pidge blinks, face blank. “What?”

“My jacket? I tried to find it this morning, but it wasn’t anywhere in my room.” He cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. “Did something happen to it? Do I not have it in the future?”

“Pidge scratches her cheek. “Uh, no, you have it. Though, I haven’t seen you wear it in a while…” She slides her gaze to Keith, but he’s not meeting her eyes. He’s focused on examining a loose thread on his shirt. “Keith… have you seen Lance’s jacket?”

He looks up, glancing between them with a neutral expression. His flush from earlier still hasn’t completely faded. “No.”

“Are you sure—“

“I haven’t.”

“Can you check your closet?” Lance asks, raising an eyebrow when Keith stares at him blankly. “You know, since your clothes ended up in my closet? Maybe some of my stuff is in yours.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” He mumbles, looking back down.

“Thanks, dude.” He says, but Keith only grunts in acknowledgement.

Okay, so future Keith is even harder to read than his Keith. Great. Not that he’s surprised, but he was kind of thinking that after a year, maybe he would have opened up to him a bit more. Apparently not. First he _holds_ him, and now he’s distant as ever. Why is Keith always so frustratingly contradicting?

“So where is everyone?” He asks when it’s clear Keith has nothing else to say.

Pidge shrugs. “Probably in the control room. I was there for a while, but I wanted to work in some peace and quiet for a while.” She says, giving Keith a pointed look.

He pouts, shoulders shifting. “I was quiet…”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, when you weren’t worrying.”

Lance snorts indignantly. “Since when does Keith worry out loud?”

Pidge gives him an odd look, but instead of answering, she changes the subject. “And Hunk is in the kitchen.”

Lance perks up at that. “The kitchen?”

She nods. “Yeah, he’s been in there for a few hours trying to make sure you have a decent breakfast to wake up to. I mean, he _could_ just use the castles systems to make food quickly, but I think doing it by hand helps him deal with stress.”

Something twists in Lance’s gut, making his smile fade. He… didn’t meant to be a burden. But while he was sleeping soundly, his whole team, his _friends_ were too busy worrying about him. Or worried about future him? “Did any of you sleep at all?” He asks softly.

Pidge and Keith exchange looks. Pidge bites at her bottom lip. “I think Shiro and Allura might have managed to get some? Maybe Coran?”

Lance looks down, feeling that knot in his gut solidify. Silence stretches between them. Pidge and Keith look like they’re not sure what to say, or maybe they’re too tired to say anything. And for once, Lance doesn’t feel like filling the silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, fingers tapping at his upper arms. It’s distracting, but not nearly enough. He feels the tension settle over them like a woolen blanket, thick and suffocating.

Before his thoughts can get too loud in the silence, the side door to the kitchen slides open, revealing Hunk. Beautiful, amazing Hunk. He steps into the room, hands and arms loaded up with dishes. Lance immediately smiles, standing up quickly and slapping his hands on the table. “Hunk!”

Hunk’s head snaps up, grin overtaking his features. “Lance! You’re awake!”

Lance throws his arms out wide. “I’m awake!”

Hunk hurries over, practically throwing the bowls and plates of food on the table before scooping Lance up into a bone crushing hug. He’s fairly certain Hunk’s biceps have gotten bigger, and he finds it hard to breathe, but he doesn’t mind. Hunk is warm and familiar and that’s comforting. He does his best to wrap his arms around his friend, but for the most part, his arms are trapped at his sides.

“Hunk, let him go before you kill him.” Keith says, and there’s clear amusement there.

“Oh! Right, sorry, buddy.” Hunk says, letting him go and setting him back on the ground. Lance hadn’t even realized he had picked him up. Heavy hands rest on his shoulders as Hunk looks him over. He’s smiling, but there’s concern in his eyes. “So… are you alright?”

Lance’s grin softens. “Yeah, buddy, I’m alright.” He says, patting his arm. Then he really takes in Hunk’s appearance. He’s got a light coating of stubble on his jaw and chin, which makes him look a lot older than just one year, but it suits him. The only other noticeable difference is— “Hunk are your _ears pierced?_ ”

Hunk’s smile drops into something more bashful as he lifts a hand to play with the thick gold hoops hanging from his ears. “Oh! Uh, yeah. Shay did that when I visited Balmera a few months ago.”

Pidge grins, eyes glinting mischievously. “He went to see his giiiirlfriend.” Hunk’s face darkens with a blush, and she snickers.

He doesn’t deny it though, and Lance is left to wonder how much of it is true and how much is just because he’s used to Pidge’s teasing. Instead, Hunk wraps an arm around his shoulders and gestures to the food on the table. “Anyway, I made you a big breakfast to welcome you to the future! Make you feel more at home, you know?”

Lance takes in the spread for the first time, and while he doesn’t recognize half of what he sees, it smells amazing. He can feel his mouth watering as his eyes widen. He glances over at Hunk, one eyebrow raised. “No space goo?”

Hunk makes a face. “You guys are still on space goo?”

Pidge chuckles, and even Keith is smiling. He leans across the table, uncrossing his arms in order to push one of the bowls toward him. “Try this one first. It’s your favorite.” He says, and Lance’s first reaction is to think that Keith is messing with him, but there’s a soft amusement in his voice that Lance can’t quite ignore. And surprisingly enough, he finds himself believing him.

So he takes his seat again, pulls the bowl towards him, grabs the fork Hunk offers, and spears a piece. Everyone is watching him expectantly, so he gives them all a mock salute before popping it in his mouth. Almost immediately, he groans, eyes closing as he slouches in his seat. “Oh my gooood,” He moans through his mouthful of food. “The future is amazing.” He sits up again only to shovel a few more bites into his mouth. The others are chuckling at his enthusiasm, but he couldn’t care less. He doesn’t know what the hell this is, but it’s _good_. He feels like he’s damn near tears.

“Hunk,” He says when he takes a break to breathe. “This is amazing. I love you.”

Hunk laughs, grinning as he slaps a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “I love you, too, buddy.”

He has his next bite halfway to his mouth when he notice’s Keith’s odd constipated look. He waves his fork at Keith, smirking. “Don’t be so jealous, Keith. You can have some, too.”

If anything, his look sours, and he pushes himself to his feet. “I’m not hungry.” He mumbles, already walking away from the table.

Lance watches him leave the room, lips downturned at the edges as he turns back to Pidge and Hunk. “What’s his problem?”

Hunk laces his fingers together in front of him, cracking his knuckles mindlessly. “He’s, uh…”

“He just has a lot on his mind.” Pidge says, expression pinched and blank.

“Riiiight…” Lance doesn’t dwell on it too much. Keith has always been an enigma, and it looks like that hasn’t changed. He has more important things to focus on right now. Like Hunk’s amazing cooking. He pushes thoughts of Keith aside and digs in.

 

* * *

 

“And we’re certain the residents of Ecnes didn’t have any bases on any other planets?” Allura asks, standing tall and authoritative at her usual place on the center pedestal.

She hasn’t changed much at all. He’s pretty sure a year is nothing in terms of Altean aging, but he can’t stop staring at her hair. It’s cut short, just above her shoulders, with half of it pulled back. He didn’t think there was any way for her to be _more_ gorgeous, but then she up and does it. Though he’s pretty sure she’d look amazing no matter what hairstyle she has. Still, he’s curious _why_ it’s cut shorter now. Not that now is exactly the time to ask.

“Positive.” Coran says, fingers flying over his own console up front. There are several images of planets pulled up on the holo screen, along with a lot of Altean text that just looks like gibberish to him. “According to the castle’s databases, the Ecarians were known for their vast knowledge in manipulating and using quintessence. They were very secretive about their practices, and kept them mostly to their home planet.”

“Mostly?” Shiro asks, raising on eyebrow. He’s standing near the center platform, arms crossed over his chest. Lance’s eyes lazily trail over him, focusing on his right arm. He’s been _trying_ not to stare, but it’s kind of hard not to. Instead of the gray and black arm Lance is used to, his prosthetic is noticeably whiter, with designs on it that he’s pretty sure weren’t there before. He wonders if his arm has needed some repairs or if it’s a new arm altogether.

Coran’s voice draws his gaze away from Shiro. “Mostly,” He nods, looking up at the planets displayed on the holo screen. “They had a few bases around the nebula, on other planets as well as some moon colonies. From the intel we gathered from the galra bases, however, it looks like those colonies have been long since destroyed.”

“Leave it to the galra to destroy the tech we need.” Pidge mumbles from her seat across the room. Her own holo screens are up, but she’s too far away for Lance to see what she’s doing. He doubts he’d be able to tell anyway.

“Correction, number five, they were _self destructed_.”

Hunk looks up from where he’s been hovering behind Pidge’s seat, looking at whatever she’s working on. “They destroyed their own colonies?”

“Indeed! According to this, the galra set their sights on Ecnes not long after—“ He pauses, casting a backwards glance at Allura. He clears his throat, standing a little straighter and saying with a neutral voice. “After the fall of Altea. But once the Ecarians caught wind of Zarkon’s interest in them, they destroyed their outer colonies and pulled back to Ecnes. The galra files say the Ecarians held out for several detaches, but when the Galran victory was in sight, the Ecnarians destroyed all traces of their technology and information surrounding their quintessence work.”

“No doubt so the Galra couldn’t get ahold of it.” Allura said, face darkening.

“That would be my guess, yes.” Coran continues. “According to this, the Ecarian culture focused specifically around the workings of time quintessence. That sort of technology could be devastating in the hands of Zarkon.”

“Then why was one of their machines left operational?” Allura asks.

Coran leans back, one arm crossing his chest as his other thoughtfully tugs at his mustache. “Not too sure about that one. From the looks of it, the Galra who occupied this planet after the Ecarian downfall didn’t know about it. They scavenged the planet for decathebes before abandoning it, but never found anything of much use.”

Lance exhales sharply in a short, dry laugh. Leave it to _him_ to find some crazy dormant ancient technology and royally fuck things up for himself.

“So there’s no chance we can find a similar machine somewhere else?” Shiro asks, though he doesn’t sound hopeful.

“It’s very unlikely. And even if we managed it, odds of it being in working condition are slim to none.”

“I suppose that rules out that possibility.” Shiro says thoughtfully, lips pursing into a small frown.

“We pretty much knew that the moment the planet collapsed.” Keith says, none too gently. His mood has just gone downhill since Lance saw him at breakfast. He stands near Lance’s chair, just inside his peripheral vision, arms crossed over his chest, face set into that perpetual scowl, the perfect picture of impatience. “The question now is what’re we going to do now?”

Shiro frowns at him, but doesn’t comment. Instead, he turns to Pidge and Hunk. “How’s your research coming? Do you think we’d be able to build a new machine?”

Pidge frowns, fingers tapping away at the holo screens. She sits crosslegged in her chair. She found some sort of sweater jacket at some point and it’s large enough that it swallows her small frame. Her lips twist into a frown. “I’m not sure… there are a lot of components in the original that I’m not entirely sure we have access to. Like this—” She squints at the screen for a moment. “Namthsurite? I can’t much on it in the ship’s databases, but I’m pretty sure we don’t have any onboard.”

“You would be correct! Namthsurite is one of the rarest substances in the known universe. At least, it was ten thousand years ago. No doubt it’s even more so now!”

Hunk crosses his arms on the back of Pidge’s chair, hunching a little as he gives Coran a flat look. “Okaaay, sooooo that’s probably a dead end. Is it possible to build the machine without it?”

“Maybe. We might be able to find a replacement.” Pidge mutters.

Coran comes to stand near her chair, one hand behind his back as he bends a little to look at her screen. His other hand strokes his mustache. “I don’t think so, number five.”

She tilts her head, bottom lip sticking out a fraction. “Why not? It looks similar in chemical composition to—“

“Look here,” Coran says, reaching out a finger to enlarge some part of her display. “Looks like that particular substance is used as a stabilizer for the machine. Fascinating. I never thought the properties of Namthsurite could work in such a way. Absolutely brilliant. Imagine the possibilities—!”

“Coran.” Shiro and Allura say together, giving him matching blank looks. Lance snorts softly.

The noise catches Keith’s attention. He sees the red paladin tilt his head to look at him. He’s slouching low in his own chair. Or, he guesses, future Lance’s chair. It’s pretty much the same, but he feels like the seat feels more worn. He’s probably just imagining it, but he can’t shake the feeling that he just… doesn’t fit here. Even though it’s _his_ seat, it’s not. His right elbow is leaning against the arm of the chair, and he’s tilted so he can rest his head on his fist. He tilts his head a little more to meet Keith’s gaze.

Keith gives Shiro and Allura a pointed look before his eyes return to Lance, the corner of his lips curling into a small smile. Lance finds his own mouth forming a matching, knowing smile.

“Right. Well, you see, it looks like the Namthsurite acts as an organic compound stabilizer, and that’s, well, pretty self explanatory.”

“So if we send Lance through without a good stabilizer…” Hunk starts, voice cautious.

“Then there’s no guarantee his molecules will be able to reform in their proper configuration.” Coran finishes for him.

Lance’s smile drops.

Keith’s does, too, his head whipping around to stare at the others. “We’re not doing that!”

“Calm down, Keith.” Shiro says. “We’re not going to do anything that will endanger Lance. We’re just trying to come up with a plan.”

Keith huffs, but doesn’t say anything, arms crossing tighter as his shoulders hunch. He looks away.

“So much for that idea…” Pidge mumbles, hunching a little as she looks back over her screens.

“Lance, what’re your thoughts?” Allura asks suddenly, turning to look at him.

He jumps at the sudden attention, straightening a little as she pins him with those beautiful multifaceted eyes. She isn’t looking at him like he’s in trouble. Her gaze is steady, expression firm but not angry. He’s pretty much been hanging out in the background of this discussion since he arrived. He is, after all, the one out of place. So he’s a little surprised by the sudden question.

He gapes at her, mouth opening and closing a few times before he’s able to get out a wobbling, “Me?”

She must sense his hesitation because her expression softens, lips curving into a small smile. “Yes, you. What’re your thoughts on the matter?” She repeats, voice kinder and less sharp.

“I, uh.” He clears his throat, adopting a casual smirk and shooting for humor. “I’d prefer _not_ turning into space time jelly, if that’s alright with you.”

Hunk lifts a finger. “I second that.”

Allura rolls her eyes, but a strange thing happens then: her smile widens. “Funny, Lance. Like Shiro said, we’re not doing anything that might put you in danger. I’m asking if you have any ideas for what we can do to get you back to your own time?”

And weirdly enough… she sounds like he means it. Like she’s actually looking for his thoughts on the subject, even though it has to be evident to everyone that he’s by no means an expert on time travel, or this future, or even weird alien technology. And suddenly everyone is looking at him, but there’s no hint of mockery or impatience or disbelief on any of their faces. They all just look… expectant.

He shifts in his seat, eyes darting around the room as he tries to think of something, _anything_ , that might be constructive. “Well, uh…” He stares out the front windows at the vast expanse of space, gears in his mind shaking off the rust and starting to turn. He hadn’t really thought much about his predicament. He hadn’t had time to. And when it came right down to it, he kind of just expected his team to figure it out. “If this really is the future…” He says slowly, thoughtfully. “Then all of this should have happened in your past, right?” He looks back to his team then, eyes darting between them. “What’d you guys remember? Maybe that can help us figure out what we need to do?”

Allura sighs, reaching up a hand to tuck some hair behind her ear. She looks down and away from him. “I’m afraid I don’t remember much at all…”

“Yeah, neither do I.” Shiro admits, rubbing the back of his neck with his prosthetic. “Everything about it is just kind of fuzzy… Like my memories after escaping from the Galra prison.”

“Lance was the only one who noticed something was weird.” Pidge mumbles, hunching a little bit, bottom lip sticking out. “Even then, he didn’t know _what_ was wrong. Just that he was getting a weird feeling.”

“I didn’t remember until Lance mentioned Kolar…” Keith mutters, and when Lance looks at him, he won’t meet his eyes. He sounds almost guilty. They all do. He digs the heel of his palm into one eye, rubbing vigorously. Lance is reminded of how tired they all look. “Even now, I can’t really remember anything. Just that it happened. I don’t remember how we got Lance back or how long it took. Just—“ He cuts himself off, hand dropping to his chest. His eyes seem far away as his fingers press against his sternum, twitching and grabbing the material of his shirt. “Just… bits and pieces. Some parts stick out more vividly than others.”

“Same,” Hunk says, rubbing his head. “It’s kind of like when you wake up from a dream, but you can’t really remember the dream? And the more you try to remember it, the more it slips away?”

“Tell me about it…” Pidge grumbles, lifting her hands to rub her temples. “I’ve been trying to remember stuff all night but I’ve got almost nothing.”

Hunk reaches forward to pat her shoulder. “Maybe we should stop thinking about it? Like, when I can’t remember a dream, I usually stop trying? And then at some point, sometimes something triggers it and I remember?”

Pidge huffs and mumbles something under her breath. Hunk just nods and squeezes her shoulder.

“If I had to guess, I would say our memory loss is some sort of defense mechanism for our brains.” Coran says matter-of-factly. “Time travel messes with the natural order of things. No doubt it’s a lot for us, being so close to the event, to handle.” He shrugs. “That is, of course, just my theory. We have no records of time travel events, so there’s no way to know for certain.”

“That’s a pretty shitty defense mechanism…” Keith grumbles.

Allura sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s certainly not useful.”

“Hunk might be onto something though.” Shiro says, drawing everyone attention.

“Uh, I am?” Hunk asks.

Shiro shrugs. “Yeah, my memories came back to me naturally or after they were triggered. I don’t think trying to force ourselves to remember anything is going to do us much good.” He looks around, gaze focusing on everyone before moving on. HIs expression softens, a small, kind smile on his lips. “Besides, I think we all need some sleep.”

At that, Pidge yawns, which then sets off everyone else.

“You especially,” Shiro says through a yawn, pinning Pidge with a pointed look.

She sinks a little into her chair, pouting. “But—“

“No, you need sleep. I know you’re worried, but you won’t be able to do much of anything like this.”

With a flick of her wrists, she turns off her holo screens. “Fiiiine.” She groans, slipping out of her chair. She gets to her feet, hunched over and rubbing one eye. “But I’m only sleeping for a few hours.”

Shiro gives her a small, knowing smile that’s boarding on amused. “We’ll see.”

Hunk yawns loudly, the sound training off into a groan as he stretches his arms high above his head. Then he lets them drop with a sigh, back hunching. “I’m going to go pass out, too. Don’t wake me unless you need Voltron.” he yawns again, holding up a hand to his mouth. He starts toward the door. With one eye squeezes shut and the other squinting, he points his free hand at Allura. “Please dont’ need Voltron.”

She gives him an amused smile, “I’ll try not to.”

“See you later, buddy.” Hunk says, patting him on the shoulder as he passes. “Glad to see you’re alright.”

“Yeah, me too.” Lance says, giving him a small, wry smile.

“Don’t get into trouble while we’re sleeping.” Pidge calls out as she shuffles through the door.

“You, too, princess.” Shiro says, drawing Lance’s attention. Shiro gently touches Allura’s arm.

She turns to him, expression bordering on a pout. “Nonsense, I’m not—“

“Princess,” He cuts her off with a smile.

She sighs, body slumping as she gives in. “Fine,” She points a finger at him. “But only for a couple vargas.”

His small, fond smile doesn’t falter as he chuckles, turning her around and gently pushing her toward the door. “We’ll see.” He pauses as he passes by Lance’s chair, hand falling on his shoulder. He smiles kindly when Lance glances up at him. “Make yourself at home, Lance. This _is_ your home.”

He quirks a ghost of a smile. “Right, thanks, Shiro.”

He nods and follows after Allura.

Now that the room is emptying, silence is sinking in. Sometimes he doesn’t mind silence, but he _definitely_ isn’t a fan right now. Silence means he has room to think, and his thoughts are still far too scrambled and chaotic for him to process them at the moment. It’s just… a lot to take in. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do while everyone sleeps. He’s not tired, and even so, he doesn’t really want to go back to his room.

Lance leans back against his hand, free hand idly slapping at the arm of his chair. He chews on his bottom lip, lost in thought. He hasn’t even realized his head bobbing to a song that’s only half heard in his mind. His leg is bouncing to the offbeat of what his hand taps. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be here, so he might as well get comfortable, right? Get his chill on? It’s still the castle ship he’s come to know. Surely relaxing shouldn’t be that hard?

A light touch on his shoulder has him jerking his head around, and he finds himself face to face with Keith. He had forgotten he was even still in the room. He has assumed he had slipped out with everyone else. He’s hovering next to Lance’s chair, hand a warm weight on his shoulder, eyes searching his with emotions that are just contained enough that Lance can’t read them.

“What?” He says, perhaps a little more defensively than he intended.

Keith’s lips purse into a small frown, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans down, reaching across Lance to swat his elbow off the arm of his chair. Lance makes an indignant noise, but Keith ignores him, pressing a finger to a button that Lance hasn’t really ever noticed before. A compartment on the arm of his chair slides open. Keith leans back, and Lance gives him an odd look before curiosity gets the better of him and he looks into the small compartment. There’s something inside. He reaches in and pulls out— well, he’s not really sure what it is. It’s of a strange material, seamlessly curved into a lopsided figure eight, rigid bumps on one side and polished smooth on the other. The material is almost transparent, giving him view of various shades of blue and purple within. It kind of looks like… a stim toy?

He looks up at Keith, brows furrowed in confusion. Keith just gives him a small, knowing smile. Eyes oddly soft as he squeezes his shoulder, and then he walks away. Lance just watches him go, not entirely sure what just happened, but a little grateful that it had. His fingers automatically fiddle with the toy, smoothing over the surfaces and tracing the shape.

Someone clears their throat, and Lance jumps, looking up. He’s surprised to find Coran is still here, too. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against his console and crossing his legs at the ankles. “I’m not entirely tired.” He says casually. “But I _am_ feeling strangely reminiscent. How would you like to hear some stories about when my great grandfather visited Ecnes back in its prime?”

Lance smiles, apriciatative warmth filling his chest as he leans back in his chair, fiddling with the toy in his fingers. “Yeah, that sounds great, Coran.”

And so he sits and listens, feeling more relaxed and at ease than he has all morning. Because of all his friends, Coran is the least changed. Because while he’s here, watching Coran animatedly tell his stories, he can almost pretend like he’s back in his own time, safe and sound. He’s been so busy focusing on the differences, trying to stay grounded in the knowledge that he’s in the future, that he hadn’t realized just how much he needed this sense of normalcy.

Here, laughing at Coran’s story, he doesn’t have to think about Shiro’s strange new arm or the scars he’s pretty sure weren’t there before. He doesn’t have to think about Allura’s short hair or the shadows that haunt her eyes. He doesn’t have to think about Pidge and how much she’s grown and the guilt that pains her whenever she looks at him. He doesn’t have to think about Hunk, his best friend who is so familiar yet so subtly different that it throws him off balance. He doesn’t have to think about Keith, and the strange soft glances or amused smiles that switch so quickly to guarded looks and frustrated scowls.

He doesn’t have to think about the worry and nervousness that his teammates are trying so hard to hide, the strange melancholy that are like shadows in their eyes whenever they look at him. He doesn’t have to think about his own anxiousness knotting his stomach or the worry clawing up his throat. Here, while Coran does his best impression of an elder Ecarian priest, Lance can laugh and pretend like everything will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["Ghost of the Future"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/21934646)  
> [My Tumblr](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Bo's Main Tumblr](http://www.zizzani.tumblr.com) and [Bo's Art Tumblr](http://dreamwips.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	3. The Family You Make For Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the team takes the time to give their minds a rest and a chance for their memories to come back, Lance sets to work trying to find normalcy with his team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter!
> 
> Hey guys! I just want to take a moment to thank everyone for your amazing support! It really means a lot to us both. 
> 
> Don't forget to check out the next chapter of [Ghost of the Future](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/23533236) if you haven't already! The timeline and events of our stories will be moving in tandem with each other.
> 
> Happy reading! <33

If there’s anything Lance prides himself on, it’s being able to get his chill on like a champ. Unfortunately, his mind is way too active and way too loud for that to be a viable option right now.

After hanging out with Coran and swapping stories for what felt like a couple hours, the Altean excused himself to take a nap himself. It looked like he hadn’t wanted to go, but Lance could see the tiredness lining his eyes and weighing on his shoulders. He had encouraged him to go, saying he would be _fine_. Being alone isn’t a big deal.

Turns out it actually _is_ a big deal.

Specifically, it’s a big deal when he’s stuck in a future where he feels all kinds of out of place. Once he’s alone in the bridge, the silence becomes overwhelming. He feels it crawling over his skin, feels the air thick in his lungs, becomes hyper aware of every hum and click of the castle’s systems. He finds himself extremely restless, so he gets up and heads out, fiddling with the strange new stim toy with both hands.

He wanders the castle for hours. Probably. He doesn’t really have any way to keep track of time. It _feels_ like hours. He doesn’t want to go back to his room. That much he knows for certain. So he tries some of his other favorite spots. They all feel… wrong. He realizes he doesn’t like staying in one room for too long. Everything is so familiar, so similar, and yet there’s always tiny differences. New machinery and gadgets with unknown purposes, some holographic pictures here and there detailing him and his team in times he doesn’t remember, clothes and blankets scattered in the common rooms, messes in the dining room, random objects and knick-knacks scattered around, scuff marks, dings, and dents on the floor and walls. Theyare small differences, subtle, but they give the castle a much more lived-in feel. Almost like a home. A home that looks almost like his, but isn’t.

Every time he tries to sit down and relax somewhere, he finds something new and different that sets him on edge. And the times where nothing is different, he feels uncomfortable simply because there’s nothing stopping him from thinking he might be back in his own time.

It’s a pretty lose-lose situation.

Finally, he decides to take a seat on the floor in one of the lesser used hallways, leaning up against the small nook that frames one of the windows that looks out into space. Now space… _that’s_ something he can stare at forever. It’s always changing and yet weirdly, always the same. He’s always found staring up at the stars calming, and now that he’s in space, he finds that hasn’t changed at all.

His mind is still a muddled mess. He can’t stop thinking about the differences between _this_ team and _his_ team. The small scars, their ease with one another, the wisdom in their eyes. He thinks about Keith’s kind and knowing look when he showed him his stim toy hiding spot, and the weird sadness in his eyes when he turned away.

He sighs, curling his knees up closer to his chest, cradling the toy in his hands. His eyes wander away from the window to the empty hall. They rarely come down this way. There’s a quicker way to get from their sleeping quarters to the kitchens, but this is an available longer route. Lance likes to take it sometimes, when he needs to stretch his legs or think. It’s the same as it’s always been. Metal floors, white walls, carvings in the wall— Wait, what?

His eyes snap back, focusing on the markings. Letters and numbers it looks like, but… maybe in Altean? Yeah, definitely Altean. Carved wide and deep into the otherwise pristine walls, roughly at eye level. He has the urge to run his hands over the markings, feeling the grooves beneath his fingers, but he also doesn’t want to get up. And the desire to stay put wins out in the end. He turns his head back to the window, eyes gazing out at the distant stars in formations he doesn’t recognize.

The entire time, he can feel the vague, curious pull from the other side of the castle, coming from the lion bay that he’s been avoiding for the past few hours. He doesn’t know how to deal with her right now, so he pushes her gently away and swallows his guilt.

He ends up dozing, mind muddled and shifting through half-awake dreamscapes, and wakes feeling incredibly groggy but with surprising clarity of mind. He comes back to full consciousness with the cold glass of the window pressed against his cheek, and the first thing he remembers is that he’s in the future. That thought is followed with a wave of uncertainty and worry, but is chased quickly with firm determination.

He’s the blue paladin of Voltron, and he can roll with the punches.

He pushes himself to his feet, stretching his arms over his head and sighs in relief when his bones pop. He rolls his shoulders, purses his lips, and sets off down the hall. In almost an afterthought, he reaches out and grazes his fingertips along the carved markings in the wall. He refuses to be afraid of the future, and he refuses to be useless.

Time to tackle the future head on. And he actually has a pretty good plan for that. He knows he feels off around his team, his friends, because he doesn’t know what to expect. He’s not sure what’s different and what’s the same. But after spending time with Coran and building some common ground, he feels better already. Feels a sense of normalcy around him that he now realizes he’s been craving to keep him grounded. That he _needs_.

So the solution seems pretty easy: find normalcy with everyone else so they can all work together to figure out a way to get him back where he belongs.

It shouldn’t be too hard, right? They’re like family, after all. Some crazy, mismatched space family.

 

* * *

 

He finds Shiro in the kitchen.

He had intended to see if Hunk had any leftovers from breakfast, but he supposes now is a good a time as any to put his plan into action. Shiro would be a good place to start anyway, right? Right.

The man is standing in front of one of the appliances that are imbedded into the wall. The only one Lance is familiar with is the food good dispenser, but Shiro’s on the other side of the wall. There’s a small metal door in front of him, and he’d fiddling with a keypad beside it, face scrunched up in concentration.

Lance hesitates for only a moment before stepping into the kitchen. “Hey, Shiro,” He says, lifting a hand in greeting as Shiro startles a little and looks at him. His face relaxes, and he smiles, and yeah, Lance isn’t sure what he was so worried about.

“Hey, Lance.”

“Have a good nap?”

“It was alright,” He says, scratching the back of his neck. “I… couldn’t really sleep, but I suppose some rest is better than none.” He turns back to the keypad, finger hesitating before pressing a couple more buttons. There’s a screen that was lit up with Altean symbols above it, but Lance doesn’t have any clue what it says. He wonders if Shiro does.

“Whatcha doing?” He asks, coming up beside him and leaning forward a bit to look at the keypad.

Shiro shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I... don’t really know.” He says a little sheepishly. Lance gives him a disbelieving look, one eyebrow raised. When he meets Lance’s gaze, he rolls his eyes and gestures to the keypad with his prosthetic, the same one that Lance is trying very hard not to stare at because now that he’s closer, he’s pretty sure that it’s not only whiter, but there are dimly glowing Voltron symbols on it. “I’m trying to make myself food, but I never really learned how to work this thing.”

Lance looks back to the keypad, eyeing the metal door beside it. “Well... what is it?”

“Hunk says it’s some sort of food generator. Coran helped him fix it up some time ago, and Hunk’s been trying to figure out how to use it ever since.”

“Sounds neat,” He says, reaching out a hand toward the panel. Shiro lightly slaps his hand away, and Lance pouts. “How does it work?”

“I... don’t know. Hunk said it uses the same sort of stuff the food goo is made out of, but reconstructs it into different forms with different flavors based on whatever is entered here.” He says, pointing at the keypad. “The problem is the Alteans had a different flavor palette and way of classifying foods than we do, so it took a lot of trial and error for you and Hunk to figure out the best combinations.”

Lance raises both brows at that. “I helped?”

Shiro seems to startle at that. He blinks, staring at Lance blankly before a small, apologetic smile curves his lips. “Yeah,” He says, voice softer. “Yeah, you did. The official taste tester, if I remember correctly.”

Lance grins, standing up a little straighter. “Sounds about right.” He says, making a show of straightening his shirt by tugging at the front of it.

Shiro watches him, arms crossed loosely over his chest and amusement clear as he snorts softly. “You threw up several times in those weeks.”

Lance points at him, raising one eyebrow. “But did I give up?”

His amused smile widens. “You did not.”

“Exactly! So we’re not going to give up here.” He rests an elbow on Shiro’s shoulder, leaning into him as he gestures to the keypad with his other hand. “Alright, boss man, tell me what you know about this thing.”

Shiro doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t try to push him off. Instead he just turns to the task at hand, no questions asked. “This button clears whatever data you’ve already entered.” He says, pressing the bigger button in question on the holoscreen. “From what I can remember, this is sweet, sour, bitter, salty, and umami.” He says pointing out specific buttons.

“Uma-what-now?”

Shiro chuckles. “It means savory.” He gestures to a few more buttons. “And... these are several more flavor profiles that the Alteans have names for but we don’t, so I don’t really know how to describe those. Hunk knows all the secrets to those.”

Lance nods sagely. “Hunk knows all.”

“Then these buttons are for consistency and texture. There’s crunchy, smooth, liquid, solid, uh...” He trails off, brows pinching and lips pursing.

Lance eyes him dubiously. “That’s all you remember?”

Shiro sighs. “I don’t usually do this. Coran and Allura know how it works, and Hunk usually sets it up to make food for the rest of us. You know all the combinations for your favorite foods, and I’m pretty sure Pidge knows how to make specific foods. She’s always up and eating at odd hours.”

“What about Keith?” He asks before he can stop himself. Not that he’s specifically curious about _Keith_ , but... yeah, he is.

Shiro snorts. “He tried to make a burger once and it came out tasting like burnt socks soaked in pickle juice.”

Lance grins. “No way.”

Shiro nods, smile on his lips. “Yup. Now if there’s no one around, he just goes for the food goo.”

Lance can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his throat. The image of Keith pouting stubbornly over a bowl of food goo while glaring at the machine he can’t figure out is just too rich. “Oh man, that is _so_ Keith. Poor guy. And you guys just let him suffer?”

Shiro chuckles. “We try, but you usually take pity on him and make him something.”

Lance’s laughter gets caught in his throat. He leans away from Shiro a fraction, brows furrowing. “Why would _I_ make him something?” Shiro’s chuckles cut off abruptly with a cough. It’s so violent that Lance stands up straight to pat him on the back. “Geez, Shiro, calm down. You okay?”

“Yeah,” He says when he can breathe again, straightening and giving Lance an apologetic look. “Sorry about that.”

Lance shrugs. “No problem. I choke on my own spit all the time. Just inhale wrong, you know?”

Shiro nods, but he’s not looking at Lance anymore. “So, you want to try to figure this thing out?”

Lance brightens at that. “Hell yeah!” He makes a show of cracking his knuckles and pushing his neck from side to side. “If I figured this out before, I should be able to do it again, right?”

Turns out he’s wrong. He’s very, very wrong.

He and Shiro manage to make the most heinous creations Lance has ever has the misfortune of putting into his mouth. But, no matter how much his tastebuds and stomach hate him, he’s having fun. He’s never spent this much one-on-one time with Shiro before, but it’s comfortable and he’s enjoying himself. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Shiro laugh this much before, and it’s an exhilarating sound. Lance likes that he can make his team relax for a moment, lift that weight from their shoulders. Especially _this_ team. The team that seems to have such a heavier weight and several more scars, both on their bodies and in their eyes.

It’s about the only thing that he _can_ do, so he might as well make the most of it, right?

“Alright, alright,” He says after they rinse out their mouths and throw away their third attempt at making bacon. He idly scratches his chin, one arm crossing his chest. “So that time it was a little _too_ crispy.”

“That’s an understatement.” Shiro says dryly.

“But! The good news is I think we’re closer than before. We just need to make a few adjustments...” He taps at the buttons in the order they’ve been working on for the past few minutes when he hears the door to the kitchen _swoosh_ open. He glances up to see a very groggy looking Keith shuffle into the room.

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro greets, and Keith just grunts. He’s wearing the same clothes he was earlier, but they’re significantly more ruffled. His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles, and yeah, his hair is _definitely_ longer. He rubs the heel of his hand into one eye, and he still looks like he’s half asleep. The word _adorable_ drifts through his mind before he can properly stamp it out. He turns back to the keypad.

“Morning, mullet.” He greets, excitement bubbling in his tone because he’s _certain_ that they’re going to get proper bacon this time. He just knows it. “Shiro and I were about to make the best bacon you’ve ever--“

There’s suddenly an arm wrapping around his waist, and his words cut off abruptly as his heart lodges in his throat. He freezes, entire body going stiff, finger hovering over the keypad. It’s like a surreal, out of body experience as Keith slides both arms loosely around his waist, clasping on his opposite hip. His body presses into his arm and his side, but it’s not until his face nuzzles into his shoulder that Lance’s brain _really_ short circuits.

“Uhhh...” He can’t really form words. He’s not entirely sure that this is happening because it’s just _so damn weird_. He feels like he’s not really in his body, like his soul has ascended and he’s watching from above. But the warmth of Keith’s body against his and the tickle of his hair against Lance’s neck are enough to remind him that it _is_ real.

“Don’t call me that...” Keith mumbles against his collarbone, words slurred with sleep.

“Uh, what?” He says intelligibly, ignoring the shivers that run down his spine at the feeling of Keith’s breath hot against his skin. His voice is a lot higher pitched than he’d like to admit, but hey! He’s in a _crisis_ right now! His mostly-rival-but-also-teammate is _cuddling_ into him!

“I grew it out and you agreed it wasn’t a mullet anymore...” Keith grumbles, and he sounds like he’s _pouting_ , and Lance refuses to look down at him because if he does, and that proves to be true, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

So instead he looks to Shiro, moving his head as little as possible but eyes blown wide in a silent, confused plea for help.

Shiro looks like he’s in pain, a chaos of emotions passing over his face too fast for Lance to really pick them all up in his frazzled state, but he does notice amusement and the cringe of secondhand embarrassment.

“Um... Keith?” He says gently, like he’s approaching a dangerous animal. Keith grunts his acknowledgement but doesn’t move. So Shiro tries again, a little firmer this time. “Keith.”

“What?” He snaps.

“You’re, uh... you’re hugging Lance.” He says slowly, each word holding a careful weight to it.

Keith lifts his head then, and Lance glances sideways in time to see him glare at Shiro from under his messy hair. His brows are furrowed, lips pursed into what is definitely a pout. “Yeah, so?” And then his eyes slide to Lance’s, and something clicks into place.

His eyes blow wide with a sudden clarity, pupils contracting as he focuses in. His eyes dart down to Lance’s... cheek? Before they dart back to his eyes. He could swear that neither of them breathe for several long moments.

And then Keith is leaping away from him like he’s made of fire. The sudden absence of him leaves Lance nearly staggering.

“Oh, I-- um...” Keith stutters, running a hand through his hair and looking everywhere but at him. “Sorry, I’m just... I’m gonna-- yeah...” He mutters, shuffling awkwardly toward the door before flat out turning on his heel and darting out of the room. The doors _swoosh_ shut and they’re left in silence.

“That was... weird.” He says finally.

Shiro sighs like he’s been holding his breath, shoulders slumping. “Yeah...” He says, not even trying to deny it.

“Is Keith always this weird in the future?” Lance questions, eyeing him curiously.

Shiro shrugs, keeping his eyes fixed on the keypad. “Sometimes... so do you remember the formula for bacon that we were working on?”

“Yeah! Let’s do this!”

He doesn’t remember, and they end up having to start over from scratch.

 

* * *

 

“I swear, Hunk, we were _so close_ to making bacon.”

Hunk laughs, leaning back against his work table and spinning some tool around between his fingers. It looks like some mix between a wrench and a scanner of some kind. “Oh man, we tried for _weeks_ to get the perfect recipe for bacon.” He points the took at Lance, smiling as he says, “You were very insistent on making the _perfect_ space BLT after Allura and Coran heard us talking about our favorite Earth sandwiches.” He tapped the tool against his chin thoughtfully. “I’m actually surprised you got so close so quickly.”

Lance shrugs, leaning back against Yellow’s leg from where he’s sitting on the lion’s paw. He laces his fingers behind his head, resting one ankle on his other pulled up knee. The picture of ease. “Maybe it’s just in my genes.”

Hunk snorted his amusement. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe you just got lucky.”

“Rude!” But Lance is smiling. “We would have had it, too, if we hadn’t been... distracted.” He trails off, smile falling as his mind wanders back to Keith, to the casual touch, the feeling of his faces nuzzling into his collarbone-- He shakes his head. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Not gonna think about that.

“Doesn’t surprise me. You’re always getting distracted, dude.” He says as a beeping sounds from one of the many monitors set up in his table. There are all sorts of screens and gadgets, with several wires and cables trailing to the yellow lion, hooking him up to the display.

“Huuuuunk,” Lance whines.

“What? It’s true.” He says absently, tapping away at a keyboard.

“Hunk! You know I can’t help it...” He grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and crouching a little lower.

He chuckles. “I know. Love you anyway, dude.”

Lance’s chest tightens at that. He looks away, fingers idly tapping his upper arms. He feels foolish about it, but-- “Even if I’m not....?” He mutters before he can stop himself. He hates the words as soon as he says them, and he hopes Hunk didn’t hear so he can brush it off, but no such luck.

Hunk straightens, half turning to look at him, face blank in surprise as he blinks. Then his brows furrow and his lips purse into a wide frown. Lance is watching him out of the corner of his eye, so he sees when he puts his tool down and starts toward him, face contorted into something so serious that it’s a little off-puttng.

“Hunk, what’re you--“

“Nope,” He says, lifting a hand to effectively cut him off. He points at him, still advancing on Yellow’s paw. “No, no, no. You are _not_ going to be thinking that way.”

“Hunk--“ He’s cut off again as Hunk reaches his perch and grabs his arm, yanking him off of Yellow’s paw and into a tight hug. It’s at an awkward angle. He’s practically lying across the top of the lion’s paw, and Hunk has his torso pulled off and pressed tight into his chest and shoulder, big arms wrapped as firmly as they can around him despite the weird angle. It’s uncomfortable, and he’s pretty sure his back shouldn’t be bending this way, but it’s the best hung he thinks he’s ever had in his life.

And that’s saying something, cause Hunk gives some damn good hugs.

“You _are_ him.” Hunk says, resting his cheek atop Lance’s head. “You’re _Lance_. Past or present, you’re still my best friend and I still love you.” Lance is totally _not_ tearing up. He’s not. “I’ve just got, like, a year of experiences and memories that you don’t have despite the fact that we went through them together, and the Lance I’m used to is a little different... but you’re still him!”

Lance snorts a little as Hunk pulls back, and he wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand because he totally has something in his eyes. “Geez, thanks, Hunk.” He says dryly, but there’s an underlying honesty in his voice, and Hunk picks up on it.

He pats Lance on the back, smiling softly. “No problem, dude.” He walks back to his station and starts back at the keyboard.

They sit in comfortable silence for several moments. Lance rolls onto his back on Yellow’s paw, gazing up at the behemoth of a lion, the strong jaw, the body thick with armor, much thicker than his own lion...

“So how’s he doing?”

“Hmm?”

“Yellow. How’s he doing?”

“About as fine as he can be after practically digging through a mountain to get to a panicking Pidge after you-- other you?-- went missing.” He offhandedly gestured with a roll of his wrist. “Then attempting to get back _out_ of said mountain and away from a dying planet. We’re not exactly the best flyers... we got a big dinged up with debris, but you know, nothing we can’t handle.” He says proudly, knocking a knuckle fondly on the armored leg of his lion.

“I wonder how Yellow feels about always being the battering ram.” Lance mused thoughtfully, lips upturned in an amused smile.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

Lance’s smile fell. “I can... Can I _do_ that?”

Hunk freezes, fingers stilling over his keyboard. He turns slowly, wide eyes finding Lance’s. “I, uh...” He laces his fingers together in front of him, cracking his knuckles in a stretch as his eyes avoid Lance’s. “I just mean to say that, uh-- that is to say, um...”

“Huuuunk,” Lance rolls onto his stomach, crawling off Yellow’s paw and swiveling to put his feet on the ground.

He waves his hands in front of him. “Uh-uh, nope, no spoilers. We all agreed not to tell you-- _Lance!_ ” Hunk yelps as Lance dives at him. He scrambles around his work table but Lance is right on his heels.

“Tell me!”

“No!”

He chases Hunk around Yellow’s hanger, weaving around the lion’s legs and the various equipment Hunk has stored around in no particular order. Lance is surprised when he’s the one who tires first. He’s been friends with Hunk for _years_ , and he’s _always_ the one who tires first. Yet here he is, barely breaking a sweat as Lance is left trailing after him, gasping for breath. Geez, were they all in better shape in the future?

Well... he supposes that would make sense.

“Hunk, tell me!”

“Nope!” He says, putting Yellow’s paw between them. Lance groans loudly, flopping his torso over the top of the paw, letting the metal cool his heated body. He gives Hunk the best puppy dog eyes he can muster, but the man remains firm. “No spoilers.”

“Ugh!”

He’s picking at his fingers again. “I just meant to say, why don’t you, uh... use Blue-- yeah! Why don’t you just ask Blue to ask Yellow?”

Lance’s chest tightens again, this time with guilt. He turns his head away, frown twisting his lips. “I, uh... I haven’t really spoken to her since getting here...”

Hunk’s look is immediately sympathetic. “Why not, buddy? You know she wouldn’t care, right? You’re still her paladin.”

Lance waves a hand in the air. “I mean, yeah, in _theory_ I’m her paladin, but... I’m not _him_ , you know?”

Hunk’s look softens. “Yeah, but you’re still you. You’re bonded with her in your timeline, right? And that’s _her_ past, too. She’ll recognize you, dude, I promise.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, slouching further onto Yellow’s paw. “I don’t know...”

He can feel her. She’s a constant presence in the back of his mind, curious and kind, gently poking at him. He’s been ignoring her, and she’s been respecting his space, but it doesn’t stop the twisting of guilt in his gut whenever he thinks about it. He knows he probably needs to go see her, to really figure out how this whole think will affect their bond. After all, he doesn’t know how long he’ll be here...

“Hunk, what if I can’t... what if it doesn’t work? What if we can’t form Voltron because of me?” He asks, voice soft and mumbled in the crook of his arm where he half hides his face.

“Lance, I wouldn’t worry about that.” Hunk’s voice is kind, but there’s an edge of amusement that has Lance looking up curiously. His best friend is smiling fondly at him. “If there’s anyone who can get over a bump like this, it’s you and Blue.”

He feels his own lips tugging up into a small smile. “Yeah, you’re right. Blue and I are _tight_.” He says with more confidence than he feels He stands up a little straighter, leaning an elbow on Yellow’s paw and crossing his legs at the ankles. “Can you imagine how much trouble we’d be in if it was Ke--“

“Hey, Hunk,” The sudden voice cuts him off abruptly, and he whips around to see Keith striding through the open doors to Yellow’s hanger. He’s looking down at some sort of tablet thing in his hands, one hand idly tapping at the screen. “I was doing some maintenance scans on Red, and I found some something weird. I was wondering if you could take a second look—“ He cuts himself off when he lifts his head, eyes instantly locking with Lance’s. He freeze’s mid-step, eyes widening a fraction, something Lance probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been staring.

And just like that, he _realizes_ he’s staring, and he quickly looks away.

“Oh, uh, hey,” Keith says, sounding exactly as awkward as he looks.

“Hey…” Lance says, leaning back over Yellow’s paw again, crossing his arms on the metal and resting his chin on his forearms.

“What’re you doing here?” He asks, and on some level, he _knows_ Keith is just trying to get over his own awkwardness, but it comes out defensive and accusatory, like _Lance_ is somehow in the wrong for being here.

He instantly bristles, turning his head, glaring at Keith over his shoulder. “I’m hanging out with Hunk,” He snaps, probably a little more aggressively than he intended, but… it’s been a long day.

Keith blinks, face falling for just a moment. “Right…” He looks away, lips pursing in that weird way that’s not quite a frown, but instead a pout, and he has the audacity to sound _sad_. Lance doesn’t get it. But he’s even more thrown when, instead of rising to Lance’s antagonistic tone, he just mumbles a soft, “Sorry…”

The tension in the room stretches, but Hunk thankfully cuts it before it can choke him. He clears his throat. “Did you want me to look at those scans?”

Keith’s eyes snap to him, his mouth opens and closes a few times, and his eyes dart to Lance for a second before quickly looking away. “Oh, right. I’ll… I’ll sent them to you.” He says, already backing away. He waves the tablet idly in the air. “You can just look them over whenever you have time.”

“It’s really not a big deal if you want me to look at them—“ But Keith has already turned on his heel and walked quickly out of the hanger, leaving the two of them staring after him. “That was weird.” Hunk says after a moment of silence.

Lance groans loudly, flopping his arms out in front of him and dropping his forehead to the cool metal of Yellow’s paw.

“Did… something happen?”

Lance groans again, louder this time, flopping his hands on the metal for emphasis.

“Lance… c’mon, buddy…” Hunk prompts, leaning across Yellow’s paw to pat his arm. “What happened?”

Lance mumbles, face down.

“Dude, I can’t hear you.”

Lance lifts his head to put his chin on the paw, pursing his lips as he gazed up at Hunk. “This morning in the kitchen, Keith… _hugged_ me?” That was an understatement, but Lance was still trying to wrap his mind around it.

Something shifts in Hunk’s expression, his eyes widening, jaw going slack. Lance thinks it might have been surprise. “Oh?”

“Yeah! And that’s not all,” He waves a hand around vaguely. “He also… _nuzzled_ me? Like head on my shoulder and everything! What’s up with that?”

“Oh, uh…” Hunk scratches the back of his neck, looking away. “He… _does_ that? Now?”

Lance raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Was it just him, or was Hunk’s voice a little high? He leaned back, lancing his fingers together and stretching his arms in front of him as he spun on his heel and walked back to his work station. “He’s, uh… a lot… _touchier_ , than he used to be? He’s… He’s really opened up over the past year.”

Lance looks down, tracing invisible patters with his fingers. “I think he hates me…”

“What?” Hunk glances over his shoulder, brows furrowed and frown on his lips.

“I think he hates me…” He repeats. “Like, more than usual. Not that I _care_ or anything. It’s just… different.”

“Why do you think that?”

Lance shrugs. “He’s just always awkward or glaring at me or getting mad all of a sudden for no reason or,” He waves a hand at the door, “Leaving the room really quickly when I’m there. Did I do something wrong? Does he hate me or does he hate _me_?”

Hunk’s expression softens, his head tilting to the side, gold hoops jostling. “Aw, buddy, he doesn’t hate you.” Lance looks up at him, totally _not_ pouting. Hunk scratches the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully. “He just… he’s not used to _you_? A lot has changed between you guys in the past year, and I think he just doesn’t know how to act around you. Just give him time. He’ll come around.”

Lance sighs, letting his head roll to the side. “If you say so…”

He’s not sure he believes him, but there’s not much he can do. He had always thought that he understood Keith, maybe not on a personal level, but on a vague baseline level he was pretty sure he had Keith and his actions pegged down. Now he’s starting to realize he might not know anything about Keith at all.

And that, for some reason, bothers him.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t find Allura so much as he stumbles across her.

He’s looking for Pidge, who he declared next on his quest to find normalcy, when he passes by the common room, a head of silvery white hair catching his eye instead of copper brown. And it’s not Pidge, but Allura’s on the list, too, right? And she’s right there, alone, so he decides to wing it.

He saunters into the room and drops over the back of the couch, landing next to her and crossing one leg on his other knee, leaning back and stretching his arms over the back of the couch. The picture of ease. She looks up from where she’s been lounging, a tablet looking device in her hand. Her brows raise in question, but before she can say anything, he’s shooting her his classic finger guns. “Are you a library book? Cause I can’t stop checking you out.”

She blinks, brows falling as she gives him a flat look. It’s one he’s pretty familiar with at this point. It tends to be her reaction whenever he puts out some moves. Can’t blame a guy for trying, right?

But then something strange happens. She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. It’s the barest quirk to her lips, but it’s there. “Hello to you, too, Lance.” She says, and there’s none of the typical dryness that usually follows his pick up lines. She just sounds... amused?

Holy shit, does future Lance have a better shot with her?

He grins, putting his elbow on the back of the couch and leaning toward her. He tilts his chin down, gazing up at her while he waggles his eyebrows. “If you were a book I’d need glasses, because you’d definitely be fine print.”

She snorts then, a small, cute, half laugh sort of snort, and covers her mouth with her hand. She clears her throat, almost like she wants to look like she wasn’t laughing, and she turns back to the tablet, swiping a finger to flip whatever page she’s looking at. “Your material has definitely improved over the past year.” She says, and Lance feels his heart sink a little.

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest as he slouches. “I thought that one was pretty good.”

She shrugs, small smile still in place. “I’ve heard better.”

“From me?”

“Not quite.”

“Aw maaaaan,” He slouches a little further, pursing his lips in a small frown as he gazes up at her. “So you’re saying in the past year I haven’t been able to woo you at _all_?”

She chuckles a little at that, looking at him then with a soft and fond gaze as she lightly pats his arm. “Unfortunately not, but that’s not for lack of trying.”

“Have I gotten close?”

“Not even a little.” She says flatly, giving him a pointed look.

“Ouch,” He sighs. “I need to step up my game.”

“I think you’re focusing your game on the wrong person.”

He sits up straight at that, head jerking around to look at her full on, twisting around on the couch to face her. “Am I dating someone in the future?” He asks, breathless in his excitement.

Her look hardens instantly, lips pursing and brow furrowing. “Lance, you know that even if you were, I shouldn’t tell you anything on the matter.”

He slumps instantly, brows pinching as he pouts. He rolls his eyes, flopping back onto the couch. “Yeah, yeah, _spoilers_ and all that...” He grumbles, using air quotes.

“Precisely.”

They lapse into silence. Allura looks back to her tablet, and Lance is left to his own devices. He’s... not really sure what to do now. She’s not talking, and he doesn’t really have anything to talk about. He realizes, a little belatantly, that he doesn’t really know what normal with Allura _is_. He’s never really had one on one time with her that wasn’t during some kind of mission, in which case there were other things on their mind. Now that he’s tried a few lines and they’ve moved past that, he’s not really sure where to go from here.

He eyes her as subtly as he can. Her hair is cut somewhere between the bottom of her ears and her shoulders, still beautiful and white and thick. She’s wearing some kind of outfit that must be casual Altean garb, because it’s not her version of a paladin suit and it’s not her royal gown. It looks comfortable though. It’s almost odd to see her so relaxed and just... well, relaxing. He’s used to seeing her always busy, always checking castle systems, always planning, always training, always doing _something_. And, quite honeslty, always looking a little stressed about it.

But here she is, lounging on the couch, completely at ease, with some sort of tablet in her hands, reading-- well, he doesn’t know what she’s reading actually. Maybe she _is_ working.

“What’re you doing in here anyway?” He asks.

She glances up at him then, blinks, and then seems to process his question. She lifts the tablet a fraction and smiles. “I was just reading up on some Altean literature.”

He blinks. Guess she’s not working after all. “Like... a book? A _book_ book?”

She chuckles. “Yes, Lance, like a book book. We have hundreds upon hundreds of Altean books in digital form in the castle’s system. They can be easily downloaded and read on these devices. It was more practical than an actual library.”

“Like an ebook.”

Her smile fades, her head tilting to the side. “Like a what?”

He grins. “Nevermind. So what’re you reading about.”

“Oh,” Her eyes widen and she looks away. “It’s, um... a tale of two Alteans who are at odds against the world, but their, um... affection for eachother...” She trails off, cheeks darkening beneath her Altean marks and lips twisting into a frown, brows pinching.

Lance’s grin widens. “You’re reading a romance novel.”

Her head whips around to glare at him, lips pursed into a pout and hair flying around her face. “It is much more than that!”

He laughs. “Oh my god, you _are!_ You’re totally reading an Altean romance novel!”

She huffs, tucking her hair behind one ear as she leans back, looking back to her tablet. “You read them, too.”

His laugh sputters out. “I _what_?”

She nods, lips curling into a small smirk. “You read them, too.” She smirks. “And then we talk about them when the others aren’t around. You used to braid my hair, too, while we discussed them.”

He gapes at her, leaning away, one hand on the back of the couch to steady himself whle the other clutches his shirt at his chest. “Oh my god...” He whispers. “We have a girl’s night...”

She frowns a little then, tilting her head. “You always call it that, but it doesn’t make sense to me. You are not a girl, and Pidge doesn’t join us.” She mutters, mostly to herself. “It’s not a proper term at all, yet that’s what you insist on calling it.”

“Oh my god...” He repeats, laughing a little in his disbelief. He looks off to the side, staring at nothing while he tries to comprehend this new bit of information.

“Would you like to braid my hair?” She asks, almost shyly.

He starts, unsure of how long he’s been staring into space. It honestly could have been seconds or minutes. He stares at her, eyebrows reaching for his hairline. “Braid your hair?”

She looks down at her tablet, but she doesn’t seem to be reading it, just fiddling with it. “Yes. It seems clear to me that you were perhaps wandering the castle in an attempt to keep busy. I know you must feel... out of place here. Which is understandable given the circumstances. You always found it calming to braid my hair, so I just thought...” She shrugged. “It’s alright if I am wrong. You don’t have to if you don’t wish. I understand it’s not quite as long as it used to be--“

“I’d love to!” He neary shouts, cutting her off. Her startled expression fades into something softer. He’s not sure what to do with that look. He’s never been on the recieving end of it before and it’s leaving his insides all confused and muddled, so he scurries up the back of the couch to sit cross legged behind her. “And your hair is not too short. I used to do my sisters’ hair _all_ the time, and they’ve had so many lengths, I’ve learned how to adapt. Just sit back and watch the master at work.”

He combs his fingers through her hair, marveling at the softness of it.

“I’ve seen your work before,” She says, amusement in her voice. “I’m your usual test subject, after all. Keith rarely lets you braid his hair.”

He freezes, brows furrowing. “Why would I want to braid _Keith’s_ hair?”

She’s silent for a moment, and that moment stretches until he thinks she won’t answer. “No doubt because he won’t let you.”

He snorts. “Yeah, okay, probably.”

He tries out several things, braiding her hair and testing the length of it with the various styles he knows. He finds himself telling her stories of his sisters as he does so. Part of his mind realizes that he’s rambling, but Allura doesn’t seem to mind. She listens and she laughs, and she even tells _him_ stories of her own. It’s... really comfortable. He’s never really had a baseline for normal with Allura, but he thinks this is a good place to start. This is actually... realy nice.

And while he plays with her hair, teasing her and telling her embarrassing childhood stories, he tries not to stare at the thin, light, hairline scars alone her jaw to her chin. Or the matching ones that line part of her neck down to her collarbone that kind of look like claws marks. He tries not to stare at her bare arms when she gestures in front of him, afraid he might find more scars and marks that definately weren’t there before.

He just focuses on the sound of her laugh and the feeling of her silky hair beneath his fingertips, and definitely _not_ wondering if Keith’s hair would be equally as soft.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t find Pidge so much as Pidge finds him.

After his time with Allura, he’s feeling lighter already. He ends up wandering the halls in search of Pidge, only to end up near the training deck. His steps become hesitant. He can hear the telltale _clang_ of metal against metal, and he know someone is fighting with the bots. And he has a good idea of who that is.

He _does_ want to find common ground with everyone, so he takes a moment to consider just barging in, but he hesitates. His heart rate is suddenly through the roof, and he wipes sweaty palms on his pants. He doesn’t know _why_ he’s suddenly so nervous to see Keith one on one, but he blames in on how weird Keith has been acting. He throws Lance off, and he doesn’t know how to deal with him.

So instead he just sort of... hovers outside in the hall, taking a couple steps toward the training deck doors before turning on his heel and taking a few steps away.

It’s Pidge’s voice that yanks him violently out of his indecisive spiral.

“He’s not going to bite, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His head shoots up, eyes landing on the smallest of his teammates. She’s standing in the center of the hall, hair pulled back into a tiny ponytail with wayward strands sticking up everywhere from where they escaped. The front part of her hair isn’t quite long enough, so it frames her face, looking frazzled. Her eyes are half-lidded, bags dark under them. Her lips are relaxed into a blank line, voice dry and flat. Her posture is hunched, wearing a baggy sweater and what looks like pajama pants. Her laptop is tucked under one arm, the other hand holding a mug that’s steaming.

He just stares at her, trying to process everything and push down the heat that’s rising to his face at being caught. She just glances to the doors to the training room, lifting a hand to her face like she’s going to scratch it but only succeeding in touching the mug to her face. She startles, staring at it like she had forgotten it was there. “I mean, unless you provoke him or ask. Then he’d probably bite you.” She shrugs, mumbling now as she sips from the mug. “Not that you usually seem to mind.”

He chokes, eyes widening. “W- _What_?”

Pidge’s eyes widen a fraction over the lip of her mug and she chokes violently, bending forward at the waist as she coughs. Lance jumps forward without thinking, patting her on the back and taking the mug before she spills it. “What?” She asks when it passes, gazing up at him with watery eyes from her coughing fit.

Lance frowns down at him, brows pinched. “You said I _like_ being _bitten_ by _Keith?_ ”

“Oh, that,” She takes the mug from him, clearing her throat with a couple more soft coughs. “I just meant when you provoke him and he does bite you, you get to use that as a reason to fight back.”

“Oh,” He says, his rapid pulse calming. Yeah, that makes much more sense. Still... it’s odd, because it seems like this Keith doesn’t _like_ fighting with him like they used to. Before he can think too hard on it, however, Pidge is already walking away. “Hey! Pidge!” He says, scrambling after her and walking at her side. “What’re you up to?”

She shrugs, indicating the laptop at her side, “I was gonna look over the scans again. You know, with fresh eyes or whatever. See if I can find things that I missed-- Hey!” She stops and turns to face him, face contorting in a frown as Lance rips the laptop out from under her arm. “Give that back!” She makes a swipe at it, but he holds it over his head.

“Dude, have you slept _at all_? You look worse than you did before.”

“Geez, thanks, Lance.” She says with a roll of her eyes.

“No, seriously,” He says, free hand resting on his hip. “Did you sleep?”

She rubs an eye, looking away. “I _tried_ , okay? I just...” She sighs, shoulders slumping, and suddenly she looks smaller than every before. “I just feel like I need to keep trying, like every moment I’m _not_ trying, we risk losing him forever-- losing _you_ \-- past me loses _you_ and I lose _him_ \-- we don’t even know if he actually made it to the past, we don’t know if he’s _safe_ , and if he’s not, that’s _your_ future, too-- and it’s all because I had to mess with that _stupid, stupid_ machine, and--“

“Whoa, Pidge! Calm down!” He says, resting a hand on her shoulder. She’s extremely tense, but her rambling that had been getting faster and faster cuts off abruptly at the touch. His tone softens. “Breathe, okay?” And she does. She actually listens to him, closing her eyes and breathing deep before letting it out in a shuttering sigh. He smiles. “Better?”

She sighs again, looking up at him with a small smile. “Yeah, thanks, Lance.”

He grins, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her to his side. “No problem.” He lowers the laptop to his side, but she doesn’t make a grab for it again. “Hey, Pidge?”

“Yeah?”

“Promise me something.”

“Oookay?”

“Stop blaming yourself.”

“Wha--“

“Seriously, stop.” He looks down at her then, lips pursed into a serious line. He pins her with his eyes, not letting her look away. “It’s not your fault, okay? If this really did happen already, then there wasn’t anything you could have done to stop it. And if you _did_ , we’d be thrown into some alternate reality, right?”

“Well, we don’t _know_ \--“

“Point is, if this has happened before, then we’re in a loop, and we’re meant to _be_ in this loop. Which means we’ll also fix it. We just gotta ride it out. So stop blaming yourself. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you now, so I guarantee future me doesn’t blame you either.”

“You only got zapped because you were trying to save me...” She mumbles, sounding small.

He pulls her closer, and she leans into him. “And I’d do it again.” He pauses, then says thoughtfully, “Actually, if we _are_ in a destined loop, then I _will_ do it again.” He grins down at her and she snorts, but she’s smiling now. “Besides, I’m probably having a blast in the past, showing off all my cool future moves and stuff.”

She chuckles then. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

“Sooo, promise me?”

She sighs, but she sounds lighter. “Yeah, I promise.”

“Good. So stop working. Shiro issued a no-work order, and since you can’t sleep, we’ll have to find another way to relax. What’d you and I do in the future for fun?”

She looks thoughtful for a moment, and then her eyes light up. Her lips curl into a mischievous smile. “Follow me.”

If you had told Lance that in a year’s time, the castle would have a _game room_ , he would have called you crazy. But now, as he stands in one of the castle’s lounges, a large screen bursting to life where it faces the U-shaped couch, several consoles, some of Earth origin and some not, spread out on the table below it, mounted over some crazy spiderweb of chords and adaptors that he doesn’t recognize, he feels like he’s in space heaven.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” He breathes.

Pidge smirks, throwing herself down on the couch and grabbing one of the controllers. “I know. Turns out finding old gaming stations in space isn’t as hard as you’d think. Aliens are scavengers and hoarders. You can find places that sell knick knacks from all sorts of planets, and turns out Earth is no exception.”

He throws himself onto the couch next to her, and she passes him a controller. It’s just like the one he’s used to. The console is a bit outdated, but out here in space, he’ll take everything he can get. “How did you hook it up?”

She chuckles. “It wasn’t easy. Hunk did it for the most part. He’s figured out a way to adapt our Earth tech to Altean screens.” She gestures to the cacophony of electronics on the table beneath the screen.

“Hunk is a blessing,” Lance breathes.

Pidge nods. “Amen.”

A couple hours later, they’re several games in, have an array of empty space juice pouches strewn around them, and several empty bowls of this crunchy snack that almost takes like popcorn though the consistency is more like crackers. He feels lighter than he has all day, sitting on this couch playing games with Pidge like they don’t have the weight of the universe on their shoulders and a shit ton of question marks blaring in the backs of their minds. For the moment, the realities of their situation can’t touch them.

“Guess who has a blue shell, Pidge,” He sings.

“Don’t you dare-- _fuck!_ ” She flops to the side, pushing against him with her feet. He laughs, leaning away from her and holding his controller off to the side to keep her from kicking it.

He ends up losing anyway.

“Nice to see you still suck at this game.”

Lance jumps, whipping around. Keith is standing behind them, arms crossed over his chest casually and eyes on the screen. He hadn’t even heard him come in, though he supposes the volume _is_ a little loud. He frowns, sitting up a little straighter. “You think _you_ could do better?”

He smirks down at him, a teasing light in his eyes that’s more familiar than the shadows he’s been seeing lately. “I know I can.”

He picks up a third controller and tosses it at him, a little peeved when he snatches it out of the air easily. “Then put your mullet where your mouth is!”

He frowns slightly. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“You don’t make sense!”

Pidge snorts. “Nice come back, Lance.”

He shoves her with a foot as Keith launches himself over the back of the couch and lands next to him. He stiffens slightly. Keith is close. Like... _really_ close. Closer than what would be typical in this sort of situation. _Especially_ when there’s a whole couch stretched out around them. Their thighs are barely brushing, knees knocking together as Keith leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, controller held loosely between them.

But Keith doesn’t move, doesn’t really seem to notice, so maybe it’s not actually a big deal? If he’s comfortable with the nearness, than maybe future Lance would be to? So it would look weird if he scooted away, right? He’s internally debating what he should do, and if it would draw too much attention to the situation if he were to move away, when Keith tilts his head to look at him over his shoulder, lips curled into a confident smirk and eyes glinting with challenge. “Ready to get your ass kicked?”

And just like that, the tension snaps and Lance is grinning, the awkwardness of the situation fizzling out and replaced by the steady flame of competition. “You are _on_ , mullet.”

As it turns out, despite talking big, Keith is _terrible_ at this game. It’s hilarious, really. Lance finds himself laughing hard enough on several occasions that he runs himself off the road.

“Stop hitting me with shells!” Keith snaps, brows furrowed, eyes locked on the screen.

“That’s part of the game, mullet!” Lance laughs.

“Stop calling me that. It’s not a mullet anymore.” He grumbles, and Lance glances sideways at him. His hair is pulled up into a messy bun, long strands falling loose to curl around his neck. He wonders how long it actually is now. He hasn’t seen it down yet, and he has the sudden, very overwhelming urge to see it. He wonders, for the second time that day, how soft it is.

His eyes trail along Keith’s jawline (has it always been that defined?), to the side of his cheekbones (high and sharp), to his eyelashes (have they always been that long?), to where the tip of his tongue is poking out in his concentration (has he always done that?), down his neck to where a black cord is wrapped around his slender neck, disappearing into his shirt. Where the skin meets the collar of his shirt, It discolors, at the junction of his neck and shoulder, the twisted and pink of a nasty looking scar, cutting across his otherwise pale, flawless skin. Lance feels something heavy and hard form in his gut at the sight of it. That... that’s a bad scar. He doesn’t want to think about what might have caused it.

“So you admit you once had a mullet?” He says instead, keeping his tone teasing and light.

Keith just grumbles something unintelligible, but Lance takes that as a victory.

Speaking of victory, Keith is catching up in the race, and Lance can’t allow that. So he reverts to the same dirty tactics he’s learned growing up in a big family with little personal space. He leans into Keith, shoving his arms in front of him, eyes still locked on the screen, as he tries to get into Keith’s field of vision, using his arms to knock and elbow Keith’s.

“Lance, what are you-- you’re _cheating_.”

“It’s called winning, _Keith_.”

He hadn’t really counted on Keith fighting back, but he does. They continue to wrestle for the rest of the race, elbowing each other and arms pushing into each other, trying to knock the controller out of the other’s hands. They keep racing the entire time, eyes glued on the screen. They tilt their heads into each other, trying to push the other away. Keith’s hair tickles his cheek, his neck, his nose, and he has to suppress a sneeze. When it becomes clear that arms aren’t enough, their legs get into it, though he isn’t sure who starts it. The entire time, Pidge cackles from the side, secure in her first place spot.

By the time the race finishes, Keith comes in eleventh place, but he’s managed to knock Lance down to fifth. But Lance doesn’t mind too much, he still beat Keith by a long shot. He’s currently perched half on top of Keith, having pushed him over and Keith resorted to lying out on the couch, arms outstretched to keep Lance from being able to reach his controller.

He blames the fluttering in his stomach on the sweet, sweet feeling of victory.

“HA! I win!” He says, throwing up his hands.

“Actually, _I_ win.” Pidge says, smirking as she pushes her glasses up her nose.

Lance rolls his eyes with a scoff. “Not the point, Pidge-- Hey!” He yelps as Keith shoves him off of him. When he sits up, they’re back to being right next to each other, hip to hip, and way too close. But this time, Lance finds he doesn’t really mind. “Don’t be a sore loser, Keith.”

“I’m not,” He grumbles, ruining the effect of his words. He tosses the controller aside, leaning back on the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s a stupid game anyway...”

Lance laughs, throwing an arm over his shoulders and leaning into him. “Awww, Keith, buddy, don’t be like that.” He meant the gesture to be friendly, and he thought that after everything that happened, the touch would be okay. But Keith stiffens under his arm, and he goes very still. Lance doesn’t miss the way his breath seems to hitch before going shallow. Maybe he had misread the situation? His insides twist a little, fearing he might have crossed a line he didn’t know was there, but it’s too late to back out of it now, so he stays how he is. Instead, he tries to play it off. “Maybe if you’re nice, the _master_ will teach you a thing or two.”

“Nah, I don’t have time for that.” Pidge says, idly picking at her nails.

Lance makes an indignant noise. “I was talking about _me_!” Pidge just smirks.

“You’ve already tried to teach me.” Keith mumbles. He’s still stiff beneath Lance’s arm, but he feels it when he leans just a fraction into his side. He’s not looking at Lance. One hand is at his chest, fingers pressing and fiddling with something beneath his shirt.

“I have?” Lance blinks, leaning away a fraction to get a good look at him. His arm remains around his shoulders, but the movement pushes it further up onto the back of the couch. He hopes the distance will make Keith more comfortable. It doesn’t seem to work. “And you still suck this much?”

Keith looks at him then, the glare and furrowed brows ruined by the way his lips purse into a pout. “It’s not that easy, Lance.”

“But... yeah, it is.” He argues.

“To be fair,” Pidge says, already shuffling through the courses as chooses another race. “You try, but you suck at teaching him.” Lance makes a noise of protest because _excuse_ , he’s taught _plenty_ of people how to play games! But then Pidge snorts a short laugh. “I think you like seeing him frustrated.”

Lance blinks, then looks back to Keith. He’s still pouting, and it’s such a different look than what he’s used to seeing on him. All his sharp angles are still there, but they look softer. All his rough edges smoothing out. For once, he doesn’t look like a kid with the weight of the world on his shoulders and shadows following close at his heels. This isn’t a Keith who’s frustrated at being unable to defeat Zarkon or unable to save a civilization from being burned to the ground. This is a Keith who’s frustrated at losing at a video game, a worry that someone their age _should_ have. It looks more at home on his features than that scar does on his shoulder.

It’s something he’s never really seen much of on Keith. He looks... human. Relaxed. Natural. Content. He looks... “Well that’s not surprising, he’s adorable when he’s frustrated.”

The words slip out without him really thinking about them, but as soon as they’re out, he freezes. So does Keith. Still as stone at his side, eyes widening as he stares at Lance, lips parting a little as his jaw goes slack. Lance stares right back, heat rushing to his face as the horror of his words really sinks in. What was he _thinking_?

_Oh god, what the fuck? What the fuck whatthefuck--_

Pidge snorts then, devolving into a soft chuckle. “Yeah, he is.”

And just like that, the tension dissolves. He looks at her, at the content smile on her face, her words hanging over his head, said with such ease and fondness that Lance thinks that yeah, okay, maybe it wasn’t such a weird thing to say after all. Not if everyone else thinks the same thing. Okay, so it’s not that bad. He’s fine. Everything is fine.

His shoulders relax, body slumping a little as he looks back at Keith. Keith isn’t looking at him. His fingers are still playing at whatever is tied around his neck, and his gaze is fixed on the floor. Lance looks him over again, trying and probably failing to be subtle about it. His gaze sweeps over Keith’s profile, and a thought suddenly occurs to him.

“Wait a second,” He says, urgency entering his voice as he sits up straighter. It’s enough to get Keith to look at him, eyebrows raised in mild concern. “Are you-- are you _taller_ than me?” He asks, incredulous, voice raising in pitch.

Keith blinks at him, face blank as his words sink in. And then, so slowly, a smirk curves his lips, mischievous and genuine, dark eyes glinting with amusement, crinkling at the corners.

“No, nonono, nope,” Lance pulls his arm back, pushing himself to his feet and placing his hands on his hips. “On your feet, right now, let’s go.” He says, lightly kicking Keith’s legs in annoyance.

Keith chuckles, but stands, turning to face Lance. They’re toe to toe, closer than what’s strictly necessary, Keith’s smirk is bright and his eyes are dancing with mirth, and his face is so open and relaxed and honest and it’s making something in him twist. It’s honestly too much for him to handle right now, so it’s a good thing Lance doesn’t have time to dwell on that because there is _definitely_ a height difference between this Keith and his Keith.

His mouth drops open. “No...” He breathes. Keith’s smirk widens into a full on grin, bright and blinding, cheeks rising to crinkle his eyes. “No!” He throws up his hands, fingers burrowing in his hair as he yanks at the strands. “No! What the-- _How_?”

He shrugs and says easily, “Second growth spurt?”

“Bullshit! Take your shoes off, mullet. We’re doing this in bare feet.”

“Lance, really--?” Pidge says, but he cuts her off.

“ _Yes_ , Pidge, really. I _refuse_ to accept this as reality.” He hopes on one foot, holding the other up as he tries to untie the laces. Keith just watches him, eyes laughing. “Keith! I said boots _off_ \--“

“Guys!” Hunk bursts into the room, startling him enough that he loses his balance. Keith automatically takes a step forward, catching him with a firm hand on his arm. Lance refuses to look at him, turning his attention to Hunk instead. He’s standing there, looking winded like he’s be running through the castle. His headband is askew, hair a mess, but his mouth is split into a wide grin.

“Whoa, Hunk, where’s the fire?” He asks when no one else says anything.

He straightens a little, pride beaming from his face. “I _remembered_! I remember what we have to do! Taking a break worked! I _remember!_ ”

Lance’s jaw drops, and he exchanges glances with Pidge and Keith. They both look as shellshocked as he does. Then, all at once, the three of them are scrambling over the back of the couch, rushing to follow Hunk down the hall as he sprints toward the bridge. Video games and awkward moments forgotten as he races, Pidge on his heels and Keith by his side, his heart hammering in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["Ghost of the Future"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/21934646)  
> [My Tumblr](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Bo's Main Tumblr](http://www.zizzani.tumblr.com) and [Bo's Art Tumblr](http://dreamwips.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	4. Where the Heart Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now with a vague memory as a guideline to go by, the team starts to take the steps necessary to bring their plan to fruition. The first step? Planet Achore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, don't forget to check out the latest chapter of [Ghost of the Future](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/24968835) to see how Future Lance is holding up with the past team!
> 
> Happy reading!

It’s really no surprise to him that he’s the last one to the bridge that morning. Not only did he have trouble sleeping, but he spent far too long just standing in his bathroom, hands hovering over and picking through the plethora of bottles and containers. Despite his showers, his skin felt neglected. He _knows_ everything in his bathroom is there for a reason and is probably safe, but he _really_ doesn’t want to risk it with alien products.

So he ended up leaving his room late, frustrated and skin greasier than he’d like to admit.

He’s tired as hell, exhaustion deep in his bones, but the excitement and anticipation of what’s to come is like a buzz across his skin, keeping him going. They’re actually going to be _doing_ something to fix this, instead of just sitting around and waiting, and that’s all he needs. The promise of action to keep him from dwelling on his thoughts.

“Mornin’, everybody.” He says as the doors slide open. Everyone’s already there, and they all look up at his entrance.

“Morning, Lance.” Shiro is the first to speak, arms crossed casually over his chest as he half turns from where he’s standing next to Allura at the center console.

“Did you sleep well?” Allura asks, eyeing him with a gentle pinch between her brows. Her lips are pursed slightly as she looks him over, but he can’t tell if it’s because of his own appearance or something that’s left over from whatever conversation they were having before he walked in.

He shrugs, striding across the room and throwing himself into his chair. He collapses into it, slouching low and stretching his legs out in front of him. “Of course, I did. Do you really think a little time space mix up is gonna keep me from getting my beauty sleep?” He says easily, waving a dismissive hand in the air. He can feel Keith’s eyes on him though, and Pidge snorts from her seat across the room. He ignores them both. “So what’s the plan?”

That seems to snap them out of their _worry about the bags under Lance’s eyes_ moment. Allura turns back forward, holding up her hands to the holo screens and pulling up a map for them all to see. “As I was just telling everyone, we need to go to planet Achore in the Slilles 800 sector.”

“Do we have to?” Keith asks. He’s standing near the center console, off to the side of it closest to Lance’s chair. He’s got a good view of the guy’s back. His hair is pulled into a haphazard bun, stray strands sticking out everywhere, and Lance has the overwhelming urge to sneak up behind him and rip it out. He just wants to know how long it actually is now. Is that a crime?

He finds his mind wandering as his eyes trail up and down the red paladin’s armor. It’s mostly the same in shape and size, but there are a few cosmetic differences. When did that even happen? _Why_ did that happen?

“Yes,” Shiro says with a sigh, voice reluctant but firm. “We have to.”

He can’t see Keith’s face, but he can imagine the way his lips purse, the way his thick brows would furrow beneath his bangs. “Isn’t there somewhere else we can get the… the…”

“The Feorhite,” Pidge says, though she stutters over the pronunciation of the strange word, like it doesn’t quite fit on her tongue.

“The Feorhite?” Hunk repeats, though his pronunciation is entirely different.

“The Feorhite,” Coran supplies helpfully.

“Yeah, that.” Pidge says, snapping her fingers and pointing at Coran without looking up from the holo screens in front of her. She’s sitting crosslegged in her chair, shoulder’s hunched and hands held up in front of her, fingers tapping away at the screens that Lance can’t see.

“And that’s a negatory, number three.” Coran continues, hunched over his own console near the front of the room.

“ _Number three_.” Lance grumbles mockingly from his seat. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Stupid second growth spurt…”

He doesn’t expect anyone to take notice, but Keith half turns, catching his eye. He blinks, then Lance’s words must have sunk in because a small smirk curves his lips. Lance hates it, hates the way his heart does this little stutter at the sight of it. He sticks out his tongue, and Keith rolls his eyes before turning back around.

“You see,” Coran is saying, pulling up files on the massive holo screens for everyone to see. On one side is the rotating form of some sort of alien, and the other is filled with bullet points and highlighted text. It’s all in Altean, however, so Lance only glances at it briefly. “The Feorhite is a specific kind of lifeforce crystal that can only be created by the Jiehiri of Achore. It’s quite possible that we can find an adequate substitute, but that would require a reconfiguration of the entire time device so it could work with multiple different components, not to mention the extensive testing and no real way to tell if it worked—“

“None of which we have time for or guarantees it will work.” Allura says, cutting off Coran’s ramble.

He doesn’t seem to fazed by it. He only nods. “Precisely. The Feorhite is our best bet.”

Shiro shuffles his feet, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “And we’re certain the— _Feorhite_ — is necessary?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Coran crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against his console, stroking his mustache. “Pidge, Hunk, if you would please?”

“Got it.” Without looking up, Pidge keeps typing with one hand while the other reaches out to pluck a small, metal disk from the arm of her chair. She tosses it over her shoulder to Hunk, who fumbles with it and nearly drops it.

“A little warning next time…” He grumbles as he straightens. Pidge just grunts and shrugs. Hunk clears his throat, holding up the disk and clicking it. Light shoots out, and a hologram is suspended in the air above it. It’s of some kind of device, Lance can guess that much, but he can’t really see details across the room. And if he’s being honest, it doesn’t really look like much. “We’ve managed to condense and reconfigure enough of the time travel device to make a smaller, more compact one. We removed all the components that were only there to keep organic life, well, uh, alive, and some of the other stuff that was just there to keep the bigger machine stable. We _think_ we’ve created something with all the necessary parts, but…”

“But there’s no telling until we try it.” Pidge finishes for him. “But the point is, yes, we need that crystal. It’s like… a map and key for the machine, all in one.”

“A map?” Lance raises an eyebrow. “Why does it need a map? Can’t we just like… put in coordinates like they do in every sci-fi movie ever?”

“It’s not that simple, Lance.” Pidge grumbles. She sounds frustrated, but Lance gets the distinct impression that it’s not at _him_. He’s not really sure how, but it’s a very subtle distinction that he doesn’t miss.

“We can set the machine to go back a year,” Allura says, taking over for Pidge. She crosses her arms over her chest, beautiful face holding the same kind of frustration that he heard in Pidge’s voice. “But there’s no telling exactly _where_ we were exactly one year ago.”

“The Feorhite is a lifeforce crystal.” Coran supplies, uncrossing his arms to talk with his hands. “As such, it will hone in on the being whose lifeforce it’s created from.”

Silence hangs in the room, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Lance’s leg bounces restlessly. His fingers itch to tap at the armrests of his chair, but as soon as he starts, the noise carries far too loudly in the silence, and he forces himself to stop. But he still feels his skin buzz with the stillness. He wishes he had the stim toy thing that Keith had shown him, but he had left it in his room…

His eyes trail to the arm of his chair. Maybe… He lifts the compartment and leans over to peer inside, but it’s tragically empty. He frowns.

_Dammit._

Curious, he leans over to the other side, and, sure enough, there’s a compartment here, too. There’s a few weird, little, metal disks, kinda like the one Hunk’s holding, but nothing fiddle worthy.

_Double dammit…_

Movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. Keith has turned away from his position near Shiro and takes several steps back towards him. Lance stiffens, sitting up a little straighter in his seat. What did he do this time?

“I still don’t like it…” Keith grumbles. He reaches up, fingers at the messy bun, tugging, making a face as he pulls at his hair— then suddenly his hair is falling free, gathering loosely at his shoulders. He stops by Lance’s chair and wordlessly holds the hair tie out to him.

Lance blinks, staring at it. He feels like everything in his brain has just come to a screeching halt. His bouncing leg has stilled, and Keith doesn’t make any other move, leaving the two of them frozen.

Then his gaze flickers up to Keith’s, and he’s surprised to see amusement in those dark eyes, softened around the edges in such a way that tells him that it’s not mocking. Maybe just… fond? It’s a look he gets from Hunk a lot, sometimes Shiro, and rarely from Pidge when she thinks he isn’t looking. He feels his lips part a little bit in surprise, because honestly what the hell is happening?

Keith shakes his hand, just a little movement to draw his attention back down to the offered hair tie. If yesterday hadn’t happened, with the stim toy and everything, Lance would be at a complete loss. As it is, he _thinks_ he knows what’s going on. It’s just really hard to process it.

He hesitantly takes the hair tie and catches the shadow of a smile on Keith’s lips as he turns back around, recrossing his arms over his chest. He’s back to looking bored and disgruntled, and Lance feels off kilter, like he’s not really sure it happened at all.

But the proof is in his hands.

“None of us are happy about it, Keith.” Shiro says, drawing their attention back to the center of the room. He sounds resigned. “But we have to.”

“Is there something wrong with this planet?” Lance asks, idly coiling the hair tie between his fingers. It’s made from some sort of stretchy material, tied firmly in a small knot to create a circle. The material is spiraled and bumpy, and he runs his fingertips over it as he twists it around. His leg is back to bouncing, but he barely notices, feeling more grounded. Everyone turns to look at him, brows raised in mild surprise, but he doesn’t fidget under the attention this time. He thinks he’s getting used to being on the receiving end of those looks. “Is it a galra planet or something?”

“Oh, right, you don’t know.” Hunk says, snapping his fingers like he’s discovered something new.

“Yeah, old Lance here, not quite up to date on every planet in the freedom fighting database.” He grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not galra occupied…” Shiro says, opting to ignore his sarcasm. He trails off though, making a face as he turns back to look at the open bio on the big holo screen. Honestly, the alien on it doesn’t look _that_ weird. Then again, he can’t really tell much when it’s dressed in robes like that.

“It’s just…” Allura starts, but trails off with a frown.

“Creepy.” Pidge supplies.

“Yeah, like… mega creepy.” Hunk adds.

“We liberated them a while ago, and it was… a strange experience.”

Lance looks between them, eyebrow raised in intrigue. “Why?”

Hunk gives a full body shiver, grabbing onto the back of Pidge’s chair for support as he hunches over. “It just gave us the heebeegeebees, man. It was weird. Like the galra actually _wanted_ to leave. I felt like I was constantly being watched, and the people there looked like they wanted to eat us alive.”

“They probably did.” Coran adds helpfully. “In their culture, it’s a very common practice to eat their dead.”

“I wasn’t dead!”

“Not for lack of trying on the planet’s part.” Pidge grumbles.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lance wonders aloud.

“The people weren’t hostile.” Allura says, pulling up a hologram of what Lance assumes to be the planet in question. “They were… unsettling, but not hostile. They were grateful for our help in freeing their planet from galra invaders, but the planet itself is quite hostile.”

“They’ve got the most species of carnivorous plants I’ve ever seen in one biosphere, not to mention their air quality allows for massive organisms to thrive, so the plants have adapted to eating such large prey.” Coran says, practically grinning as he rattles off his list and counts it on his fingers. “Then you have the Carnivorous Crybo Pink-Bellied Wyrms that burrow beneath the surface, which creates sink holes. There’s the fact that every drop of water on the surface is acidic, the dust storms of razor sharp particles, oh! And the air itself is toxic to Alteans!”

“Thanks, Coran.” Allura says flatly.

His grin only widens, mischief sparking in his bright eyes. “No problem, princess.”

She sighs, spinning the hologram planet around with a flick of her wrist and zooming in. “The temple we want, we believe, should be around here. Unless they’ve relocated since we were last there, but it’s doubtful. Coran and I, unfortunately, can’t accompany you to the surface. It’s too dangerous, given what nearly happened last time.”

Lance leans over, putting an elbow on the arm of his chair and whispering loudly to Keith, who hasn’t actually moved all that far from him. “What happened last time?”

Keith glances at him before looking back forward, answering in a low voice. “After a while, the air corroded the filters on their helmets and started to leak though. It’s… very toxic to them.”

“Oh…” He says, voice small as he tries to hold back a wince.

“Yeah…”

“We’ll take our lions down to the surface.” Shiro says, and Lance’s eyes flicker back to them. Lance feels a lump rise to his throat at the thought of Blue. “We’ll be safer with them, and we’ll be able to form Voltron if things go south.”

“I agree—“ Allura starts, but she’s cut off by Keith.

“No.”

Everyone turns to stare. Lance blinks up at him, eyes wide with surprise. His fingers, which had been idly twirling his hair tie, still. Keith stands still, face closed off and impenetrable. One hand grips the front of his shirt tight.

Shiro’s brow is furrowed, lips pursed into a stern frown, but he looks… worried? Definitely concerned. Everyone else is looking at him with varying expressions of worry, frustration, surprise, and… pity? Weird. Lance looks between them, trying to read the conversation that’s passing silently between them. But both of their expressions are iron masks, giving away just enough for him to know he’s missing out on something without actually filling him in.

But he definitely gets the impression that it’s about him. It’s always about him lately.

Irritation and anger spark in his heart, making his chest tight. He feels his lips press into a small frown. He really hopes he’s wrong.

“Keith,” Shiro says, voice slow and steady. “I know what you’re thinking, but—“

“No, Shiro.” Keith snaps, voice rising. “We can’t form Voltron. Not with—“ His voice seems to choke off, and Lance can see the way his fists clench. He closes his eyes, breathing deep before continuing, all uncertainty gone. “Not with him.”

Lance’s chest tightens, stomach rolling as his gut twists. “Oh…” It slips out, sad and small, before the fire of indignant rage fills him, strengthens him, hardens him. “Oh,” He repeats, and it’s ice. He sits up straight, eyes narrowed in a glare that he hopes Keith can _feel_. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean, mullet?”

Keith’s eyes flicker to him, something shifting in his gaze, melting, before it hardens again and he looks away. “You heard me. We can’t form Voltron with you.”

“Keith,” Allura tries in that diplomatic voice he’s heard a million times.

Keith’s gaze flickers to her, but he doesn’t back down. “Allura, you know we can’t—“

“And why is that, huh?” Lance plants his hands on the arms of his chair and pushes himself to his feet. It only takes a few steps to plant himself in front of him, and fuck this height difference. It takes all of his self control not to go up on his toes to get that familiar dynamic back. Instead he just puts his hands on his hips, cocking them to the side as he glares up at him. “Am I not _good enough_ for you? Not good enough to form Voltron?”

“Lance—“ Hunk sounds worried. It’s almost enough to make him back down. He keeps his gaze fixed firmly ahead to avoid looking at him. If he does, he might just crack.

“No, Hunk. I wanna hear what Keith has to say.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “So let’s hear it. Why can’t I form Voltron?”

Too many emotions pass over Keith’s face, too quickly and too subtly for him to read any of it. His mouth twists, but his glare remains fixed. “You’re not—“

“A good enough pilot? Not up to your standards right now?” There’s bile on his tongue and acid in his voice. “What? You think a _cargo pilot_ can’t keep up with you, hot shot?”

Keith flinches, visibly, a full body thing. He looks hurt for a second, which is absolute bullshit. He has nothing to be hurt about. When he speaks, his voice is almost pleading. “Lance, it’s not— That’s not it. We can’t form Voltron because you’re not—“

“Him?” Lance snaps, and Keith flinches again. “That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? That I’m not him?” Keith’s lips purse, but he surprisingly doesn’t rise to the bait. His head tilts, eyes going to the floor. Lance’s mouth feels sour. “Yeah,” He says, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. He wants to hide the hurt, but he doesn’t think he quite can. “That’s what I thought.”

“Guys, can we please just—“

“Stay out of it, Pidge.” He says, and he’s a little surprised she listens.

“Lance,” Keith tries again, using a _Shiro_ voice, like that’s gonna help him calm down and not piss him off further. “It’s more complicated than that—“

Lance isn’t having any of it. He reaches forward, poking Keith firmly in the chest, making the red paladin stumble back a step. “Newsflash, _Keith_ ,” He lowers his voice, gets all up in Keith’s face so he can’t look away. He jabs his finger into his chest again, a small part of him getting enjoyment from the way he winces. “I _am_ him. Everything _he_ is, at some point, was _me_. And guess what? I form Voltron, too. If we have any trouble, it’s because of _you_ not thinking I’m good enough. Not me.”

And because he can feel the heat behind his eyes, the familiar sting, the tightening of his throat, he glares at Keith for only a second more before turning on his heel and stomping out of the room. As the doors slide open, he can hear the others calling out for him. What he doesn’t hear is Keith’s voice. Not that he expected it. Then the door slides shut behind him, and the voices are muffled. All he can hear is the echo of his own steps on the floor and his own heavy breathing as he tries to get himself under control.

 

* * *

 

Lance hadn’t _meant_ to end up in Blue’s hangar. Given all his worry and nervousness about it, he fully intended to avoid her as long as possible.

But as he was storming through the halls of the castle, vision blurring through the frustrated tears he _refused_ to let fall, rubbing relentlessly at his eyes, he could _feel_ her. He could feel her calming presence in the back of his mind, a bone deep rumble vibrating along their connection, a soothing balm on his shaken nerves.

It’s little wonder that he just kinda… ended up here.

And as he stood in front of her, towering above him in all her glory, apprehension making his chest tight, she knelt down and opened up for him. Her presence wrapped around him, cool and comforting, making all the tension melt from his shoulders. He had grinned, rushing up the ramp and throwing himself into the familiar cockpit.

The cockpit itself is a little worse for wear, and there’s several more of those little silver disk things lying around, but it’s familiar and it feels more like home than his own room. Blue is a fucking blessing. Her mind wraps around his, purring vibrating his very being. He finds himself rambling to her about everything, telling her all that happened, and she listens. Even when he runs out of things to say, he finds himself still rambling.

He just can’t get over the lightness in his chest, the ease in his mind, making him giddy. She _knows_ him. She never questioned it. She accepted him right away because he’s her paladin. Past, present, future. Doesn’t matter. She’s his, and he’s hers. She’s curious and a little worried, yes, but she loves him either way, no matter what iteration of himself he ends up being. And that… ends up being a comfort that he hadn’t realized he needed.

Everyone looks at him like he’s _Lance_ but he’s not _their_ Lance. Blue just sees him as _hers_ , as _Lance_. He supposes it’s different when she’s an immortal, sentient, giant, alien, space lion, but it’s comforting all the same.

As he talks, he fiddles with the hair tie that ended up around his wrist. He appreciates the repetitive movement enough to ignore the fact that it’s _Keith’s_ hair tie. He doesn’t know why he’s so upset about it, why the thought of their argument makes his insides knot up uncomfortably. He’s the one who _wanted_ to fight with Keith. He’s the one who missed their usual back and forth because it’s what felt normal. He’s the one who’s constantly thrown off and disappointed when Keith doesn’t rise to the bait.

So he doesn’t quite understand why fighting with Keith is making him feel so shitty.

He’s not sure how much time has passed before he hears the doors to the hangar open and feels Blue’s attention shift. He’s draped across his seat, and turns his head to look through the window to see who’s come to check up on him. He’s already got something snappy on the tip of his tongue for Hunk or Shiro, because process of elimination has declared them the most likely subjects to come hunt him down.

But much to his surprise, and much to his chagrin, it’s Keith who walks through the doors.

Keith walks right into the hangar and doesn’t stop until he’s standing in front of Blue. He tilts his head, looking up at her with his lips twisted into this little curious pout, before turning and scanning the room. “Lance?”

He frowns, leaning over to hit the button that’ll project his voice outside the cockpit. “What’d _you_ want?”

Keith’s gaze snaps back up to Blue, eyebrows raised for a moment before settling into his usual furrowed scowl. “We need to talk.”

“Like hell we do!”

Keith’s expression shifts from frustrated to almost concerned, and it’s just a small shift but Lance doesn’t like it. “Lance, please—“

“No! I have nothing to say to you.”

“Lance—“

“ _Lalalala_ ,” He sings, putting his hands over his ears. “I can’t hear you!”

“ _Lance_ —“

“ _LA LA LA LA LA_ — wha—!” He’s cut off abruptly as Blue shifts, and he barely has time to protest, and no time to hold on, before Blue is ejecting him, spitting him out on the floor at her feet, right in front of Keith. He lands on his ass and props himself up on his hands to glare up at Blue. “You _traitor!_ ” He can feel her amusement tickling the back of her mind.

When he risks a glance at Keith, he’s smirking, not even trying to hide his own amusement. Great.

He pushes himself to his feet, making a show out of brushing off and straightening his clothes. “Fine,” He says, crossing his arms over his chest, cocking a hip to the side, and lifting his chin. “I’ll listen to your apology.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Uh,” He deflates a little in his surprise. There hadn’t even been a hesitation, and it catches Lance off guard. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” He repeats.

Lance holds up a finger, opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. He purses his lips, pushing his knuckle to them as his eyes narrow, looking Keith up and down. “Um, not gonna lie, I was kind of expecting that to be more difficult.”

“No, you were right.” Keith says, eyes intense as he holds his gaze. Lance feels the need to fidget under those dark eyes. “You _are_ him, even if…” His lips purse, eyes flickering away. “Even if that’s hard to accept sometimes.”

Lance doesn’t know what to say, so he stays silent, simply watching. And surprisingly, it’s Keith who fidgets, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

He sighs, short and frustrated, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t think you _can_ form Voltron. It’s that I don’t think we _should_. There’s a lot of… _stuff_ that we know that you don’t, and I don’t want to risk messing up the timeline because you’ve learned things you shouldn’t have. I… I _like_ how things went, and I don’t want to risk ruining that.”

He won’t look at Lance anymore, which is a strange shift from the intense gaze literally seconds earlier. Lance can tell he’s biting the inside of his cheek, and he’s still shifting his weight. Lance waits, drawing out the silence, keeping as still as he can to draw out the moment. Because even if his anger has deflated for the most part, he’s kind of enjoying seeing cool, tough Keith wilting under his gaze.

When he thinks Keith has suffered enough, and right when the guy looks like he’s on the verge of fleeing, Lance finally speaks. “So it’s the whole _no spoilers_ thing?”

Keith glances up at him, sighing in what sounds like relief. “Exactly.”

Lance snorts, waving a hand around vaguely. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” He asks, grinning at the incredulous look Keith is giving him.

“I tried!” He finally snaps, glare in his eyes but pout on his lips. It just makes Lance’s grin widen as he shrugs, and Keith huffs, looking away.

“Why are you always so difficult.”

“I could say the same for you.”

And just like that, the tension melts. On some level, he’s surprised that he’s forgiven Keith so quickly, especially given how much that argument had hurt a sore spot, but… Keith’s reasoning makes sense, and it _is_ kind of his fault for not letting Keith explain. Plus, Keith just looks so apologetic and pitiful. It’s hard for him _not_ to forgive him.

Maybe he actually _likes_ it when they’re not fighting.

Huh. Weird.

He takes a few steps backwards until he feels Blue’s paw behind him. He then plants his hands and lifts himself so he can sit on the edge of it, pulling one knee up and letting the other leg dangle. He wraps his arms around his knee and rests his cheek on it.

As he continues to stare at Keith, his face relaxes into something more thoughtful. “You know, sometimes it’s hard to remember that you guys are older. For the most part, you’re just so much like… well, _yourselves_ , I guess.”

Keith glances at him for only a moment before turning away. “Yeah,” He says softly, a small smirk on his lips. “I know what you mean.

“But then you do things like this, and I can really see how much you’ve changed.”

Keith looks at him then, thick brows pinched, lips pursed into that little confused pout that Lance is becoming increasingly familiar with. “Like what?”

“Like…” He gestures between them, to the hangar around them. “ _This_! The whole talking thing. I’m pretty sure my Keith would have needed Shiro to drag him in here tooth and nail before apologizing. And even then I doubt it would’ve sounded sincere.”

Keith smiles then, eyes going to the floor and hair falling in front of his face. He chuckles as he steps forward, turning to put his back against Blue’s paw, right next to Lance. He leans back, arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Lance brightens at that, lifting his head and grin wide. “So you _admit_ you were a total douche?”

When Keith looks up at him through his lashes, head tilted just slightly, there’s a wry smile on his lips. “Give me time. You and the team… You guys really helped me grow.” The fondness in his voice is too much and causes these little warm flutterings in Lance’s gut, which is _not okay_ , because this is _Keith_.

“Okay, but how like… how much time we talking here? Cause sometimes you’re pretty insufferable—“

Keith reaches up and shoves him, light and playful but hard enough to make him fall over. Lance laughs, and Keith looks away, but he’s smiling.

His laughter, however, sobers up pretty quickly. He sits back up, leaning his chin on his folded knee, arms wrapping his leg up tight. “Everyone’s probably pretty mad at me, huh?” He asks, voice quiet.

Keith turns to look at him, but Lance keeps his gaze on the floor. “Why would they be mad at you?”

Lance snorts, rolling his eyes. “Uh, cause I stormed off like that? In the middle of a mission briefing?”

“They’re not mad. Just worried.”

“All I do is worry them lately…”

“Only because they care about you.” He leans over then, bumping his shoulder against Lance’s thigh where his leg dangles over the edge of Blue’s paw. “ _We_ care about you.”

Lance can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips, but he’ll be damned if he makes eye contact with Keith right then. “Thanks, Keith.”

The silence that stretches between them was isn’t uncomfortable, but it _is_ awkward. At least on Lance’s side. It’s awkward because it’s comfortable and fond and friendly in ways that he’s still not used to being with Keith, especially after an argument and an apology that’s left him feeling far too vulnerable for comfort.

And he can feel Blue buzzing in his mind, amused by his discomfort like the _traitor_ she is.

“Well, this has been great and all but,” He leaps off of Blue’s paw, taking a few steps away while he makes a show of stretching his arms over his head. When he lowers them, he shoves his hands in his pockets, half turning to look at Keith. “We should probably get going before Hunk comes crashing in here to keep us from killing each other.”

Keith chuckles, pushing off Blue’s paw to join him. “Good point.” He stops, however, when he stands next to him. Lance gives him a curious tilt of his head, one eyebrow raised, but Keith isn’t looking at him. He’s staring straight ahead. “Also, I don’t think you’re a bad pilot.”

Lance blinks, brows furrowing. “What?”

“I don’t think you’re a bad pilot.” He repeats. “In fact, you’re a damn good pilot.”

Lance lets out a small, indignant snort. He shrugs, hands curling into fists in his pockets even as he tries to keep his cool. He gives Keith a wry smile. “Yeah, sure thing, _top of the class_. No need to humor me.”

“Lance—“

“Dude, I constantly crashed the simulator, I _know_ —“

“So did I.”

Lance blinks, heart caught in his throat. He stares at Keith. “What?”

“The simulators at the garrison were off kilter. If you didn’t account for it, of course you’re gonna crash.” Keith shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The fact that you crashed in a way that would have still saved you and your crew is a miracle.”

“How… do you know how I crashed? You weren’t even at the garrison then.”

Keith looks at him then, a lopsided smirk on his lips and a gleam in his eyes. “You told me.” He says simply, and then he’s walking away. Lance just stares after him. As he reaches the door, he turns, walking backward with that amused smirk still in place. “Come on, _Tailor_ , we gotta get you fitted with some armor.”

Lance gapes as he turns back around. “Keith— _Keith_ — Did you just—?”

The sound of Keith’s laughter echoes in the hall outside of Blue’s hangar.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, the armor he’s fitted with is a lot like Allura’s. It’s a form fitting body suit made from a really sturdy but light weight and breatheable material. It fits like a glove, is surprisingly comfortable, and lance thinks he looks pretty damn good in it. It’s lacking the heavier armor pieces of his paladin armor, but at least it’s blue.

“That’s not going to keep him very safe.” Keith mutters from where he’s leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.

“This is a top of the line Altean battle suit. Made to be lightweight and moveable without sacraficing efficiency.” Coran stand by the mirror where Lance is posing, getting a good look at himself, preening proudly as he strokes his mustache. “This suit will deflect most weapon fire and absorb impacts that would otherwise break the wearer’s body.

“Won’t do much to stop a blade.” Keith remarks dryly.

“Good think I’m a long range sharpshooter then, huh?” Lance says with a smirk. he holds out a hand. “Coran, my gun.”

Coran hands him an Altean style rifle. It’s not too difference from his bayard. A little heavier, bulkier, and with an actual trigger. He hadn’t realized just how connected he was to his bayard until he holds the foreign gun and it feels cold in his hand. It’s still a beauty though, and he’s excited to try it out.

He holds it up to the light, sighting down the scope and letting out a long, low whistle of appreciation.

“Paladin armor would be better.” Keith grumbles.

Lance rolls his eyes. “Well next time I’ll just wear my armor twenty-four seven just in case I get time warped again.”

“How does it feel?” Coran asks as he walks around him, picking here, poking there.

“It’s awesome. Thanks, Coran.”

“No problem, number four!” He says, cheerfully slapping Lance on the shoulder before walking toward the door. Lance scowls at his back.

He catches sight of Keith, and the red paladin smirks. “Come on, _number four_.” He says, voice light and teasing as his eyes look him over, slow enough that Lance feels his face heating up. When Keith’s gaze meets his again, he smirks. “We have a mission to complete.” And then he turns and follows Coran out the door.

 

* * *

 

He has to admit, no matter how nice the Altean bodysuit is, he feels naked sitting in Blue without his paladin armor. Especially when his team’s faces flicker to life on the holo screens, all dressed up in their fancy armor. It’s an odd and uncomfortable reminder that even though he’s in Blue, this team is slightly different than his own. More experienced. If that isn’t enough to make him feel inferior, then the whole _no armor_ thing does it.

Blue’s rumble rocks through him, a comfortable vibration that he feels in body and mind. Right. Present or future, he’s still a paladin. He’s _Blue’s_ paladin. He’s Lance, and he’s awesome.

As he settles into his seat in the cockpit, he tries to mentally hype himself up, but he doesn’t really _feel_ it until they’re out of the castle and he’s barreling through space. And once again, Blue feels like home.

He can’t help it when he tosses his head back, letting out a loud _whooohooo_ , before doing a quick barrel roll and pushing Blue into a steep nose dive toward the planet. There’s some noises of surprise from his team, but it only takes a moment before they’re diving after him, their collective laughter echoing around the cockpit.

They sober up a bit as they enter the atmosphere, and Coran reminds them to stay alert. Allura sends them all coordinates for the temple they’re supposed to find, and they automatically pull into a flight formation, fanning out with Shiro in the lead.

As they break through the clouds, evening out their flight above the planet, Lance sucks in a loud breath before letting out a long whistle. “Whoa.”

“Yeah…” PIdge says, voice awed but tense. “Pretty much exactly how I remember it.”

“I still don’t like it, no matter how pretty it is.” Hunk says, shuttering. “Awww, there go the heebeegeebees.”

“Just keep an eye out, team.” Shiro says. “As long as we’re cautious and alert, this mission should be easy.”

“Shiro.” Keith says, voice sharp. “Storm up ahead, to the right.”

Lance glances up, and sure enough, there’s a swirling of clouds up ahead, all in hues of pinks, reds, and purples. The clouds seem to almost bubble as they roll, swirling down from the sky to nearly touch the surface. It’s moving fast, racing from the far right of them into their path in seconds, reaching toward them.

“What the heck is _that?_ ” Lance asks, voice rising in pitch.

“Sandstorm.” Keith says.

Pidge snorts. “Yeah, sure, if sand was made up of shards of glass that cut through everything.”

Hunk groans. “I hate this planet.”

“Go for cover.” Shiro says quickly, voice urgent as his lion banks. “Reconvene after the storm.” He and Keith dart high while Lance, Pidge, and Hunk roll low.

The trees are huge, leaves bigger than his lion on most plants. They weave through the trunks, frantically looking for cover before Lance sees a hole and dives for it. Hunk and Pidge follow, and they find themselves in a tunnel underground just as the storm sweeps by over them.

Allura’s face flickers to life on one of his displays, drawing his attention. Her brows are knit with concern. “Paladins, report.”

“We got surprised by a sandstorm.” Shiro’s face flickers onto the display next to hers, everyone else popping up in succession. “Keith and I made it back into the atmosphere. We’re waiting above the storm.”

“Lance, Pidge, Hunk,” Allura says, lines pinching the edges of her mouth. “Are you three safe?”

“Doin’ just dandy, princess.” Lance says, eyeing the storm through the opening above them.

“We’re in a cave Lance found.” Pidge reports. “It should be a safe enough place to wait out the storm.”

“A cave?” The concern in Shiro’s voice draws Lance’s attention. When he looks down, the man’s brows a furrowed, lips tugging into a small frown. “Just be careful down there.”

“I’m monitoring heat signatures.” Pidge says matter-of-factly. “It looks like we’re alone.”

“It looks like the storm is passing quickly.” Keith says.

“Indeed,” Coran adds, display popping up next to Allura’s. “It should be gone in a matter of ticks.”

“We’re going to scout ahead,” Shiro says, already looking away from the display. “The tree of you follow after the storm passes. We’ll meet up at the temple village. Call for us if you run into trouble.”

“You got it, boss.” Lance chirps with a mock salute.

He sees the small smile on Shiro’s face before his display cuts out. Allura’s and Coran’s follow after them, leaving only Hunk, Pidge, and Keith. Keith’s brows are pinched into that concerned scowl that Lance is starting to think is his new default. “Be careful.” Is all he says.

Lance flashes him a cocky grin. “I always am.” He says, brushing off his nails on his chest before holding them out to admire them. It’s kinda weird to be gloveless, but his Altean bodysuit didn’t come with them. Keith just rolls his eyes, corner of his lips quirking as his display blinks out.

“Always careful.” Hunk snorts, “Yeah, tell that to all the detentions we got at the garrison.”

“Hey, it _could_ have been worse. We only got caught like, half the time.”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Lucky doesn’t mean careful.”

“I don’t mind getting lucky either.”

“ _Oh my god_ —“

“Hey, guys?” Hunk cuts in. The worry in his voice grabs their attention immediately. “Not to interrupt, but do you hear that?”

They’re all silent for a moment, listening. For a moment, all Lance can hear is the howling wind, the high pitched whine of the storm, and the constant pattering of dust particles against surfaces outside. But right when he’s about to say something, he hears it. A deep rumbling, a scraping, a vibration beneath Blue’s feet. It’s low, but powerful enough to persist through the racket of the storm.

“Uhh, what’s that?” He says, wariness creeping into his voice.

“Yellow is picking up some seismic activity.” Hunk says, pressing a few buttons within his own cockpit. He sounds increasingly worried. “And it’s getting closer.”

“Pidge,” Lance says slowly, tension making him sit up straight. “I thought you said you were monitoring heat signatures.”

“I am!”

“But if it’s the carnivorous… _something_ wyrm…” Hunk says slowly, and Lance can see the gears turning behind his eyes. When they widen, his mouth falling open, Lance feels a shock of alarm shooting through him. “Then it doesn’t _have_ a high heat signature, right? Didn’t we figure that out last time? Their body temperatures are the same as the ground’s!”

There a tense pause where Pidge’s face goes blank, and then she lets out a long string of curses.

“You forgot?” Hunk asks, voice high.

“Yes, I forgot!”

“How could you forget that?” Lance joins Hunk in the pitch pitched club.

“I don’t remember everything about every alien species we come across! Especially ones that aren’t even the dominant life forms on a planet!”

“You could at least remember the ones that want to _eat us_.”

“Uh, guys?” Yellow shifts, head pointed down one of the tunnels. “It’s getting closer.”

“We gotta go!” Lance says, already poising Blue to leap for the exit.

“We can’t!” Pidge snaps, making him freeze. “Not with the storm outside! It could damage our systems enough to put our lions out of commission!”

“Well we can’t just sit here and let that thing eat us!”

“I’m with Lance on this one. I don’t want to be giant space worm food again.”

“Just—“ Pidge huffs out a frustrated breath, shifting Green so they stand behind Yellow and a little closer to the exit. “The storm’s almost gone, just _hold_.”

They inch toward the hole in the cavern, positioning themselves just under it.

“Hold…” Pidge whispers, even though nothing outside their lions could hear them.

The rumble gets louder, a deep persistent shaking, the sound of a heavy body scraping along stone.

“Hold…”

He can feel the vibrations beneath Blue’s feet, shaking right up through the seat of his chair.

“Hold…”

His fingers tap restlessly on the controls, entire body tense as he waits. Blue’s poised to spring, and he feels as if she’s holding her breath with him. Over the coms, he can hear Hunk’s ragged breathing, the soft nervous sounds that he can’t quite stifle.

“Hold…”

Movement at one end of the tunnel. A body moving, dark against the stone, glowing vein-like ripping it’s sides, a flash of teeth, _far_ too many teeth for comfort. He glances up at the exit. The storm is still there, but the winds and whipping sand look like they’ve calmed down.

 _”Hold…”_ Pidge’s voice is firm, rooting them all in place.

Yellow shifts restlessly. They all draw a little closer. The wyrm moves toward them with surprising speed, seeming to sense them up ahead. Closer, closer, closer….

“Piiiidge…” Lance’s voice is high, throat tight in his alarm.

“Almost… almost… Now! _GO!_ ”

There’s no hesitation as the three of them jump, their lions springing forward like the snap of a taut wire. Green first, followed closely by Yellow and Blue. They rise straight, carrying across the distance with their sudden leap. And as they go, Lance hears the rumble, the loud wordless cry that was deep and angry, not unlike a whale call but with edges of sharp predator undertones that make his hair stand on end. The ground beneath them crumbles, and he looks down in time to see the giant wyrm, almost snake like in appearance, with no eyes and dark fleshy scales, rows and rows and rows of churning, jagged teeth in its gaping maw as it shoots from the hole in the earth, rising high, higher, higher.

“Whoa!” Lance banks sharply to the left, Blue rolling out of the way. Above him, he sees Pidge and Hunk pull off similar maneuvers. “Down boy!” Lance shouts, a laugh of relief and adrenaline bubbling up his throat. “Not today!” They fly along the tree tops, only briefly glancing behind them as the wyrm crashes back to the ground.

They set a course for the beacon Allura marked on their maps, and Pidge leads the way, flanked on either side by Lance and Hunk. Unfortunately, it’s not as smooth of a flight as Lance is expecting. Turns out, there’s a reason Hunk hates Achore.

The storm might have passed, but the danger is far from over. They don’t get very far at all before thick, barbed vines shoot from beneath the tree tops. Lance and Pidge manage to dodge, but Hunk isn’t as quick. They hear his alarmed shout as Yellow gets dragged beneath the foliage. Lance and Pidge hesitate for only a second before diving after him, and they’re suddenly face to face with a _plant_ with a giant hole with _teeth_ , dangling Yellow above it. Never mind the fact that it probably can’t digest Yellow’s metal hide. The plant probably doesn’t know that. But it’s spittle looks pretty acidic and they _really_ don’t want to test it out.

They barely managed to make it it away, darting and weaving through the thick tree trunks, before they realize they’re in a _forest_ of these octopus-like plants. It requires a lot of quick maneuvers to get away, and Lance is incredibly surprised and proud of how much his teammate’s piloting has improved, but they eventually break free and make it back to the sky.

They don’t get far before giant, reptilian birds force them back down. Lance nearly dives into a lake to avoid being caught before Pidge reminds him that the water on this planet is acidic. He pulls up last minute and nearly gets grabbed by tentacles rising from the depths.

“Why does everything on this planet want to _eat us_?!” He shouts, letting Blue’s reflexes and awareness bleed into his own to help his reaction times.

“This is why none of us wanted to come here!” Pidge shouts back, shooting vines from a cannon on Green’s back to wrap around and drop several of the flying predators.

Yellow is a battering ram through the rest, Hunk’s voice a constant mantra of, “ _I hate this planet. I hate this planet. I hate this planet.”_

By the time they near the village marked on their map, their nerves are frazzled and they’re all on edge, but they all breathe out long groans of relief. The village itself is located at the base of a mountain, rising up along the side of it. half of the buildings carved into the side of the stone. They find Black and Red about halfway up the mountain, perched on a flat jutting of rock that looks a lot like a landing pad. There’s a crowd gathered, and as they near, they see Shiro and Keith among them.

The crowd parts as they come down, all heads turned to them as they step out of their lions. Shiro steps up to meet them, a wide, relieved smile on his face. “Glad to see you all made it in one piece.”

“Barely…” Hunk grumbles, glancing around at the crowd gathered.

Lance throws an arm around his shoulders, shaking him playfully. “Don’t listen to Hunk. It was no problem, right, guys?”

Pidge and Hunk exchange glances, rolling their eyes. “Right…”

Keith steps up beside Shiro, arms crossed over his chest. His smile was small, and he looks just as relieved. Lance purposefully ignoring the soft look he was giving him and the way he stares just a little too long.

“So what now?” He asks instead, keeping his attention on Shiro.

“Are the Jiehiri going to help us?” Pidge asks from his side.

Shiro gives her a wry look. “We’re… not sure. We still have to ask her.”

Lance raises an eyebrow, glancing around at the aliens keeping a respectful distance. They’re slender and willowy, but still short in stature. Their skin tones range from dark to reddish brown. Their dark, thick hair seems to have many styles, but they’re mostly worn long, shaved at the sides, and pulled back. Their noses are nearly non existent, mere slits high on their faces, fixed between two wide eyes, black as night, with no pupil to speak of. They… don’t seem to blink a lot, which makes their stares a little off putting. Their clothes are fairly simple wrappings with a vast array of colors. Most of them have their arms exposed, and Lance can see bumps that look like a coil beneath their skin, wrapping all the way down their arms. Their lips are thin and mouths wide, and when they open them, he’s a little unnerved to see rows of sharp teeth.

“Have you… not asked them yet?” He asks, eyeing them all cautiously. Now he prides himself on being a pretty welcoming and sociable paladin. Probably the most sociable one. And he’s not gonna lie, these aliens _are_ kinda pretty, in their own otherworldly kinda way. But he’s seen a lot of weird things on this planet, and he’s a little on edge.

He remembers Hunk’s comment about them looking like they wanted to eat him and shutters. He can see it.

Shiro blinks and follows Lance’s gaze. “Oh, these aren’t the Jiehiri.”

Lance gives him a look. “They aren’t?”

“No, these are the Zyronans.”

He frowns, looking to Hunk, who at least looks a little sympathetic. “Okay, now I’m lost.”

“This planet has two dominant species.” Pidge says, voice low to keep it from carrying. “The Zyronans are have the biggest population and are the surface dwellers, for the most part. They’re looked after by the Jiehiri, who usually stay underground. Most villages have a handful of Jiehiri and several thousand Zyronans.”

“This village only has one Jiehiri.” Shiro says, eyes darkening in a way that Lance can’t read but puts him on edge anyway. “And we’ve met her before.”

“Unfortunately,” Keith grumbles, glaring up at the mountain.

“Paladins,” Comes a hoarse voice, and they turn to see one of the Zyronans standing behind Shiro. They’re wearing a decorative circlet and heavier robes, but that’s the only indication that this one holds power. Their voice is airy but rough, whistling through their teeth and drawing out hiss-like sounds. “Chozass is ready to see you now.”

Shiro nods, face polite but firm. “Take us to her.”

They fall into step behind the Zyronan, and the others part to let them pass. Lance tries not to meet their unblinking stares. They weave through the outer streets of the village before passing through a large archway into the tunnels that burrow deep into the mountain. There are far too many tunnels for him to keep track of, small ones that branch off from the larger, main one. It’s lit by lanterns that glow a faint green, but it’s still too dim for comfort. He wonders if the Zyronan’s eyes adjust better than theirs do.

The deeper they go, the more the tunnels are coated by veins of smooth crystal, iridescent and glistening, almost like the dull gray is cut with mother-of-pearl that glows with it’s own eery internal light, pulsing faintly in such a way that gives Lance the distinct impression that the mountain is breathing. He’s never been very claustrophobic, but boy is he feeling it now.

His fingers are twitching, tapping out rhythms against each other. When that’s not enough, he starts slapping at his thighs as he walks, thankful that the sound of their boots on the stone drown it out.

“The Jiehiri make that.” Keith says, voice low and right in his ear.

He jumps, turns to stare at him. Keith is standing a little too close, but with how he’s feeling right now, his presence is a comfort. “What?”

Keith nods to the veins of color against the rock. “That… _stuff_. The Jiehiri feed off of energy or something that the Zyronan feed them. In return, they use the extra energy to create crystals and substances that ward off the wyrms and other predators.”

“So they make a lot of different kind of crystals?”

Keith shrugs, and he’s close enough that the motion rubs against his arm. “I guess we’ll find out.”

They walk for what feels like ages, then they reach a set of spiraling stairs and _those_ take ages. By the time they reach the top, he feels like he’s about to collapse, his feet ache and his legs burn, but he _refuses_ to complain because no one else seems to be out of breath. Hell, even Hunk looks perfectly fine and even Pidge hasn’t complained yet. When did they all get into such good shape? He does, however, let out a small groan of relief, and Keith shoots him a small, amused smile. Lance sticks his tongue out at him.

They reach large stone doors with intricate carvings on them, and the Zyronan steps aside, bowing slightly as they gesture for Shiro to go ahead. Shiro looks at him for a moment, then at the doors that are easily five times his height. Apprehension skews his features before he turns and sends a pleading look to the rest of them. Lance snickers a little bit as they all step up to help him push the doors open.

Inside is a large cavern. The same iridescent veins spot the walls, as well as a few other, larger crystals along the where the floor meets the walls. In the center of the floor is a large carved symbol circular in shape with plenty of jagged points leaving it. At the end of each point is a stand that holds a metal stand, each holding a dangling glass orb, what looked like a flickering fire within but it doesn’t behave like fire. Either way, it lit the figure standing at the center of the symbol.

“Paladinsssss,” The alien says. Her accent is similar but different from the Zyronans. It’s hoarse, but with the distinct impression of someone who doesn’t speak much, or doesn’t have complete control of their vocal chords.

“Chozass.” Shiro greets with a stiff nod.

“I knew I would see you again.”

They step further into the cavern, stopping just outside the symbol. The heavy doors close behind them, echoing around the space with an uncomfortable sense of finality. “Then you know why we’re here.” Shiro says, firm and unyielding.

“Perhapssss.” She says, voice slow and rhythmic, hisses drawn out until they fade. She stands tall. Easily twice Shiro’s height. Much of her body shape is hidden by the floor length robes, but he has the distinct impression of a slender form. A long, dark tail trails out behind her, tip sharp and flickering. Her hands are clasped in front of her, head bowed. He can only see vague details of her angular face, but her eyes are large and dark and reflect the amber glow from the lanterns. She, too, doesn’t blink. “Speak of what you seek.”

“Feorhite.” Shiro says with a lot better pronunciation and confidence than any of them had back at the castle. Lance wonders if he practiced it.

“Ahhh…” The alien breathes out, long and raspy. “It has been a long time since I have heard that word. A long time since I have made that particular crystal. Only those of Ecnes have ever requested it of me, and they are long since gone.”

“Do you still know how to make it?”

A strange scratchy sound, like nails on a chalkboard, sharp and pulsing. A laugh. “Of course I do, paladin. Do not take me for a fool.”

“ _Will_ you make us one?” Pidge speaks up, standing tall despite her short stature, voice a mirror of Shiro’s.

Chozass’s attention shifted. There’s a flash of teeth that might have been a smile. “I knew from the moment you touched our planet that I would one day do this for you.”

“Sooo, that’s a yes?” Hunk says, glancing between them and Chozass.

“Yessssss.”

“And you… don’t need to know why we need it?” Shiro asks warily.

“I already know what I need to know. I will do what I can for the paladinsss of Voltron. You may spare me the details.”

A collective sigh of relief among them, soundless, but seen in the way their shoulder’s relaxed.

“But firssst… I require payment.”

The tension is back, running through them like an electric wire. “What kind of payment?” It’s Keith who asks.

“Sustenance.”

“What… kind of sustenance?” Shiro asks when the rest of them remain silent.

“A life force crystal requires a life force.” Her voice drawls out, slow and patient, but still putting him on edge.

“You don’t mean…”

That strange laugh again. “No, blue one. The process is not fatal, though it may seem that way.” She moved then, taking slow and measured steps forward. None of them moved as she came to a stop in front of them, towering above. “I feast off of the energy that emotions provide. Once I am fed and have had a taste of your life force, I can create the feorhite you seek.”

Shiro’s chin is lifted to meet her eyes, or rather, where they should be. Lance does the same, but he’s glad her attention isn’t on him. “What do we have to do?”

“The procedure is simple. One of you will offer yourselves to me. You will give me a memory, one that has roots deep within your mind. You will relive it, again and again. You will relive every iteration of it from several possible timelines and realities. You will experience it over and over, and I will feed on the emotions the memory generates.”

Another step forward, one that makes them all take a step back.

“Now,” That toothy grin, refracting the green and orange glow of the lanterns. “Who will volunteer?”

They remain silent as she looked them over. He refuses to look away from her, and he can tell his team does the same. Still, as she slowly starts to pace around them, they bend and fold. They inch closer together, their line curving until they stand in a circle. They’re not close enough to touch, but he knows if he moves just a few inches to either side, he’ll bump shoulders with his team. Chozass paces around them with slow and measured steps that are probably supposed to be calming, but instead feel practiced and predatory.

As she paces in front of him, he can feel those eyes on him, calculating and hard, the edges of them lose to the shadows of her hood, but the glistening of fire off those dark pools is enough. Her presence is heavy, like a rock pushing on his chest, like the feeling of holding your breath underwater. His skin prickles, hair standing on end. And then she passes, and the feeling relieves just a fraction. But he can’t relax fully. Not when she’s doing the same thing to his friends.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t irrationally frightened of this towering alien, but there was a comfort in having his team there. His friends. His _family_. Their Lance or not, they’re in this together.

“Fascinating…” She mutters, voice grating on his ears as she paces around them, echoing off the cavern and sounding from everywhere at once. “All of you are fractures. Imperfect beings. Broken and battered beyond repair. Yet a strength is always there to cover a weakness. A shield to every dent. Together, there is no true weakness in the chain. A singular unit. You will bend, but I sense you will never truly break.” That sound. A laugh. Short and amused. “Unfortunately for you, this is a test for one. The chain must break. One must stand on their own. Weaknesses naked and bared for me to see.”

There’s a tension in their group. He can feel it, even if he can’t see them. He stares straight ahead, eyes fixed on a dark patch of wall, rock, and shadow. His jaw clenches, hands clenched into fists. Guilt rolls in his gut, clenched tight with fear and apprehension.

Whatever she wants, whatever they have to go through, it doesn’t sound good. But one of them needs to go through it.

It’s his fault. Past, present, future, doesn’t matter. He caused this mess. He’s the one that needs to get back to his own time. He can’t let his friends suffer for his own mistakes. Can’t let them go through this because of him.

His jaw relaxes, shoulder’s squaring but losing their tension. His hands relax at his sides. Making the decision is the hard part, but following through is easy. And once he’s made it, he knows it’s the right one. He’ll deal with the consequences of his actions. He’ll do what needs to be done.

And he knows, deep in his heart and in his instincts, that even if it wasn’t his fault they’re in this mess, he’d still volunteer to save his friends from pain.

“I’ll do it.” His voice rings out in the cavern, confident and strong but with a small waver. A ripple in an otherwise still pond. His team say his name, a variety of concern, anger, and worry in their voices. But he ignores them. “I’ll do it.” He repeats.

Chozass come to a stop in front of him, and he automatically straightens, tilting his chin to defiantly look her in the eyes as best he can. He feels that pressure again, pushing on him, pushing _through_ him, like phantom fingers passing through his very being. He shutters with the sensation of it, but refuses to back down.

“A brave one, you are.” She says, voice low but still managing to catch on the walls and echo around them. Perhaps it’s the dead silence that helps it carry. “Your life is a fascinating one. I can see it.” There’s definitely a glow where her eyes should be, a deep seeded, colorless glow in those dark depths. “Your life is a twisted knot, full of plenty of sorrow and pain and joy.” He finds it hard to breathe with all the pressure on his chest. His lips part, trying to gasp for air. Then all at once, the pressure relieves, disappears, and he nearly staggers forward. “Unfortunately, you are not at a point in your tangled web where you can provide the emotion necessary.”

Lance frowns, brows pinching. He doesn’t _want_ to feel offended, but… “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, blue one, that you haven’t suffered enough yet.”

Her words hang heavy in the air, the implications of them sinking in low, weighing on his shoulders. His team seems to be holding their breath. Lance feels a new kind of pressure on his chest, a tight grip at his lungs. He can’t protect his friends. He can’t this time.

His head turns automatically, and before he really realizes it, he’s staring at Shiro. The man’s eyes are hard, a tick in his jaw from where he clenches it. His hands are tight fists at his sides. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the others staring, too. They all know what’s going to happen.

They all know who’s suffered the most.

“I’ll do it.” Keith’s voice breaks the silence, shattering it so completely that everyone whips around to stare, stunned.

“And so the sword becomes the shield.” Chozass murmurs.

Lance feels something in him shift and twist, but he doesn’t have time to focus on it.

Shiro’s expression darkens. “Keith—“

“No, Shiro.” Keith’s tone is one straight out of Shiro’s book, one that leaves no room for argument. His gaze shifts to their leader, and Lance can tell by the set of his jaw and the spark in his eyes that he won’t be backing down. “I can’t let you— you’re not going to relive any of it. I won’t let you.”

Shiro’s face shifts, something soft but worried, torn and pained. “Keith—“

“Shiro.” It’s Pidge this time. She’s stepped up behind him, a small hand on his arm. He gazes down at her, and she stares back, face pained but unyielding. “He’s right.”

Shiro looks to Hunk, to Lance, and they give him near identical expressions. No one budges. No one tells Keith not to do it. Lance _wants_ to, but he _can’t_. He was already rejected.

When Shiro sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat, Keith turns to Chozass. “What do I have to do?”

The sight of her grin makes Lance’s stomach churn. “Follow me.”

She leads Keith to the center of the symbol on the floor before turning to face him. She reaches out and lays a hand on Keith’s chest plate, fingers long and spindly, spread wide. “I will need a memory. One that invokes great emotion.” There’s a long silence, one where the two of them stare. “Ahh,” She says, right as Keith gasps. “This one will do nicely.”

“No.” His voice is firm, hands curling into fists at his sides. He sounds like he’s speaking through gritted teeth. “Not that one. Anything but—“

“Fear is the strongest emotion.” She says, cutting him off, fingers curling slightly on his chest plate. “Joy and contentment fade, need constant validation and rejuvenation. Fear and pain, however, are the emotions that carry the longest. They shape us. We learn from them. It is instinctual and primal and a key in the survival of all living things. Fear for those we love is stronger than fear for ourselves. Guilt makes the fear all that more potent. And the relief and joy that comes from a fear never coming to fruition but the possibility of which hangs heavy in the air?” Even from this distance, Lance can see her toothy smile. “That makes it all the sweeter.”

“Not. That. One.” Keith grits out.

“That one, or you won’t get your feorhite.”

There’s a pause. Keith’s heavy breathing. Lance can see his shoulder’s shaking. “Fine.”

“Keith—“ Shiro starts, but he’s cut off.

“I said it’s _fine_.” Keith glares over his shoulder, lips set in a determined line. He holds Shiro’s gaze for a moment before his eyes flicker to Lance, pins him. There’s emotion in his eyes that Lance can’t put a name to, but makes his heart lodge in his throat all the same. Then he turns back around. “Just do it.”

She lifts her hand from his chest, long fingers curled as they hand in the air in front of his face. Lance thinks they might have a third joint to them. Her free hand reaches up to tug her hood down, revealing a bare head marked with runes, large dark eyes, and skin as gray as they rock around them. The markings shine almost iridescent against her skin. Her gaze flickers to where the four of them stand. “You will not enter the circle. You will not interfere. No matter what you see, what he _thinks_ he sees, none of it is real. Everything is in his mind, and when I am done feeding, his mind will be returned to this reality. You have my word he will survive. Do I have your word not to interfere?”

They mumble a weak chorus of _yes_ , and she turns back to Keith.

“Are you ready, red one?”

“Just do it.”

“As you wish.”

She reaches out both hands and presses her slender fingertips to his temples, gingerly holding his head. Her eyes begin to glow, so slowly that at first, Lance doesn’t see it happening. Then her eyes are white, the markings on her skin seeming brighter. The nails on her fingers start to glow, and suddenly her grip tightens, fingers digging in at the same time Keith stiffens, back arching and head flying back.

They all jump, immediately on the defensive, but none of them move. They promised they wouldn’t. Keith’s eyes are wide, pupils blown and sightless. His lips parted and his breaths shallow. He looks wound tight as a bowstring.

Silence settles over the cavern. No one dares speak or move. Their eyes are fixed on the two at the center. Keith doesn’t look comfortable, but at least he doesn’t seem to be hurting. Whatever’s happening, it must be in his mind. Lance’s heart pounds in his chest, a steady and firm rhythm against his ribcage. The others look just as tense as he feels. They’re all bracing themselves, but the seconds tick by and nothing happens.

And then Keith’s body jerks. He throws back his head and _screams_.

Lance’s heart squeezes, lodging itself in his throat, choking off his air. He’s stiff, wheezing, eyes wide as his stomach drops and his gut twists so violently that he thinks he might be sick. His hair stands on end, limbs feeling numb with the amount of adrenaline that kicks into his system. His ears are ringing, trying to drown out that _sound_.

Lance has heard plenty of screams before. Screams of joy. Screams of terror. Screams of worry. Screams of surprise. This is nothing like any of those.

The sound that rips from Keith’s throat is raw and unfiltered, torn from him unwillingly and forcefully, conveying more terror, panic, and pain than any words. It’s pure and primal, something that made every instinct in Lance rear up and shove him violently into fight or flight.

_Run. Run! Danger! Go!_

_Danger! Fight! Claw. Kick. Lash out._

Something hard rises in him, a fury, wild and consuming. Something protective. His eyes are zeroed in on Keith, the pain that twists his features. He’s silent again but his mouth is frozen in the action of the scream that still echoes in his ears.

 _Keith. Keith. No, not him. Stop. Keith. No, nonono. Stop._.

He doesn’t realize he’s taken a step until he feels Shiro’s arm on his shoulder, hard and unyielding, a cage. He tugs against it, but Shiro doesn’t budge. When he looks at him, fire in his eyes and acid on his tongue, the look of utter pain and misery and resignation in Shiro’s features makes him deflate. He shakes his head, a subtle movement, and Lance slumps, eyes wide and worried as they return to Keith.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, however, because a sudden shaking of the mountain has them staggering to stay on their feet.

“What the hell was that?” Pidge says, voice high and panicked.

“Is it one of those wyrms?” Hunk’s voice, matching Pidge’s. “Please don’t let it be those wyrms. I thought this mountain was protected from them?”

He hears the giant stone door creak open with surprising force, and out of the corner of his eyes he sees his friends turn to look. His gaze remains fixed on Keith. He can’t bring himself to look away.

“Paladins!” Someone gasps. No doubt a Zyronan. “The red lion! She’s gone mad!”

“She’s clawing at the mountain!” Another voice.

“You must stop her before she destroys everything!” A third.

Shiro curses under his breath, and suddenly Lance is being yanked back by the shoulder, forced to turn, forced to tear his eyes away from Keith’s face, frozen in pain and panic. “Lance!” Shiro is holding his shoulders, shaking him, but it takes him a moment for his eyes and mind to focus. Shiro’s voice is grave. He has to focus. “Lance, you have to go stop Red!”

His tongue feels thick, mouth dry. “Me?” He manages to croak out.

“Yes, you.” He searches Lance’s face, lips tilting down in a frown. His voice softens, but it’s no less urgent. “I know this seems strange, but you’re the only one Red will listen to besides Keith. We can’t interrupt Chozass’s ceremony, but if we do nothing, Red will tear through the mountain to get to him. You have to do something.”

“I—“ His voice sounded hoarse. His eyes widened. “I can’t—“

“You _can_.” Shiro says, and there’s not a drop of doubt in his voice. He knows Lance can do this. There’s no question about it. And that’s all the encouragement he needs, but… his eyes flicker back to Keith. Shiro shakes him again to draw his attention. “We’ll watch after him.” He says softly. “Trust us.”

Lance licks his lips, schooling his expression as he nods. “Okay.”

Shiro nods. “Go. Hurry!”

Lance has to steel his nerves as he staggers from the room. He can’t look back, no matter how much he wants to. The image of Keith as he screamed is fixed too firmly in his mind. He runs after the Zyronans, who are surprisingly quick on their feet. His legs are wobbly, shaky, but the longer he runs, the more then numbness fades. He’s a paladin. He has work to do. And it’s that mindset that calms him, puts him at the eye of the storm.

The mountain still shakes from where Red is clawing and battering herself against the entrance to a tunnel, trying to widen it enough to fit through. Zyronans are fleeing from the rocks that tumble down the mountainside. As they near the tunnel, his guides stop, falling behind and running for cover. He runs on ahead, eyes fixed on the red lion.

She rears back, jaws agape as she charges a beam. He doesn’t really think. He dives in front of her, throwing his arms out wide. “Red, _stop_!” The words shout from his lips before he really thinks them. It’s probably not the best play to stop a rampaging giant metal space lion with his body, but he doesn’t really know what else to do. He winces at the light, bracing for the impact that never comes.

Then a surprisingly thing happens.

She closes her mouth, settling down on all fours, and bends her head to look at him. He feels a push against his mind, right in the back where he usually feels Blue’s calm, cool presence. This one is hot and fierce, but no less comforting. She’s confused and worried, he can feel that beneath her fire.

A wry smile curves his lips as he stops forward, putting a hand to her warm metal. “He’s okay, girl.” He leans forward to put his forehead against her, closing his eyes and letting out a shuttering breath. “He’s going to be okay.”

Her rumble is deep and angry, worried and desperate, but she stays with him, and he focuses on her purr to try to drown out the memory of Keith’s screams.

 

* * *

 

It feels like an eternity before the others emerge, and in that time, Lance doesn’t move. He stays with Red, comforting each other, feeling Blue at the edges of his conscious as silent support.

He tries to focus on his breathing, but he doesn’t quite get it back to normal.

He hears their voices echoing out of the tunnel before he sees them, and he turns to watch them step into the light. They’re escorted by several Zyronans that warily eye the red lion behind him. Keith is held between Shiro and Hunk, an arm over each of their shoulders, head bows, hair a mess, sweat and tears staining his face, but _alive_. Pidge walks beside them, a red crystal gripped in her hand.

Lance stays where he is, one hand on Red to steady him as his knees shake.

When they see him, they smile, tired and relieved and simply glad to have it over with. Lance feels his own smile mirroring theirs.

“We got it!” Pidge says, holding the crystal up for him to see.

At the sound of her voice, Keith’s head snaps up, the movement making him stagger a little bit. Hunk and Shiro stop, glancing at each other. Keith, however, is just staring at Lance. His eyes are wide and wild, red rimmed and glistening in the daylight. His hair is a tangle that half sticks up and half clings to his face and neck. His mouth hangs open, face red and puffy and tear stained.

His lips move, and while Lance can’t hear him, he gets the distinct impression that he just said his name. All at once, Keith is moving, struggling to pull away from Hunk and Shiro, who let him go but not without some reluctance. He staggers forward, taking a few steps before his legs give out and he stumbles. But he catches himself with his hands, pushing back to his feet and sprinting toward him. “ _Lance!_ ”

The sound of his name, said so desperately, so hoarse and broken, yet filled with uninhibited relief, snaps Lance out of his stupor. He takes several hurried steps forward without thinking, arms out to catch Keith before he falls again.

The red paladin hits him full force, and Lance stumbles back several steps. Keith’s arms are around him, holding him tight, face buried in the crook of his neck and shoulder’s shaking. Lance hesitates for only a moment before wrapping his arms around him, resting his cheek against his hair.

“You’re here— You’re _alive_ — _fuck_ — I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“ His voice is broken and small, cracking and stopped by shuttering gasps. His protective instinct rises. He doesn’t like seeing Keith like this. Strong, confident Keith. He doesn’t like seeing him small and vulnerable.

He rubs soothing circles onto his lower back, other hand running through knotted hair. “Shhhh, buddy, it’s okay. I’m here. We’re all here. You’re okay. I’m okay. Everyone’s okay.” He mutters softly, feeling Keith’s shutter, feeling him nuzzle closer to his neck, feels his wet breath. “You did great. It’s over now.”

In the end, they determine that Keith is in no condition to fly. He doesn’t seem like he’s entirely in the present moment, shadows haunting his features and eyes unfocusing to see whatever terrors he witnessed. He can barely stand, and his limbs shake too much for him to be of much good. Not to mention the fact that he won’t entangle himself from Lance. Won’t leave his side. Won’t let go of him.

And surprisingly, Lance doesn’t mind. In fact, when Shiro tries to force Keith off of him, he protests. Tells Shiro it’s fine, leave him be. Holds Keith a little tighter. He doesn’t know what happened. He doesn’t know what memory Keith relived. He doesn’t know where future him and this Keith stand. What he _does_ know is that Keith has come to _him_ for support, is clinging to _him_ like he’s the lifeline that’s keeping him from drifting away.

And whatever happened, whatever he went through, he did it for _Lance_. To fix _his_ mistake.

So yeah, if Lance can offer any kind of comfort or support, he’s going to.

He’s not going to let Keith go until Keith lets him go first.

Unfortunately, Red won’t let Keith go either. Lance ends up having to fly Red back to the castle with Keith curled up in his lap, looking small and vulnerable, even as the shaking finally subsides, while Black and Yellow carry Blue between them.

When they’re nearly there, he feels Keith tilt his head back, feels his gaze on his face. He doesn’t look down until he feels Keith’s fingers on his face, his touch light and gentle as his fingertips trace alone his cheek and his jaw. When he looks down at him, Keith’s eyes are distant, brows pinched, lips set into a small, sad frown.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes, mouth barely moving and voice so soft that Lance isn’t sure he heard it at first.

It doesn’t sound like it’s for him, so he pretends he didn’t hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> ["Ghost of the Future"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/21934646)  
> [My Tumblr](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Bo's Main Tumblr](http://www.zizzani.tumblr.com) and [Bo's Art Tumblr](http://dreamwips.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	5. Cause You're Giving Me Chills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are tense after the team returns from Achore. Pidge and Hunk set to work replicating a small time machine, Keith distances himself from everyone, and Lance just wants to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Guess who's back with another installment? Thank you to everyone who's taken the time to read, and those who have taken the time to comment. We appreciate all of you, and we're having a lot of fun with these mirror fics. 
> 
> Speaking of, don't forget to hop on over to ["Ghost of the Future"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/26856648) to read that new chapter if you haven't already. Bo also has a somewhat important PSA in her author's notes, so please take a moment to read that!
> 
> Happy reading!

When they get back to the castle, Keith is reluctant to uncurl himself from Lance’s lap. The shaking has stopped, and if it weren’t for the fingers curled tight as a vice around him, he would think Keith was asleep.

But he does manage to coax Keith off of him, supporting him with an arm around his waist while Keith’s drapes over Lance’s shoulders. Keith’s weight is heavy as they slowly make their way down the ramp, legs uncertain and wobbly.

However, as they leave the hangar, the further into the castle they get, the more distance Keith puts between them.

He stands straighter, pulls his arm away, lets space fill a void between them until Lance’s arm drops from his waist. His stride is still wavering, but with every step it gets stronger, faster, forcing Lance to hurry to keep up. He stares straight ahead, jaw clenched, eyes hard and glassy. He looks like he’s breathing heavily, trying to center himself even if it’s not quite working.

Lance wants to reach out for him, to comfort him, but he’s not sure he’s allowed to. So he doesn’t, itching hands curling into fists at his sides.

By the time they reach the bridge, Keith has completely retreated into himself, closed off and locked away, face unreadable save for the tension, still tear stained and red but hard and unyielding.

The rest of the team is already there when they step through the doors, and they all sag with relief as they look over, though none of them can hide their worry. It’s in their furrowed brows, pursed lips. In the way they shift their weight, in the way their gazes flicker. Several of them take a step forward, towards Keith, but a single sharp glare has them rooted firmly.

Allura is the first to clear her throat, and they all look to her. She stands on her pedestal, hands clasped in front of her as she looks around at them. She’s smiling, face a forced kind of cheerful. “Well done, paladins. The mission was a success. And no injuries this time. That’s a first for Achore.”

“Nothing physical, anyway.” Shiro mutters, eyes fixed on Keith, a small frown on his lips.

Allura steps forward, putting a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. She squeezes, and he relaxes into it. They exchange looks that are knowing and tender, small smiles that make Lance feel like he’s interrupting something, and that’s... interesting.

“We can be grateful that Chozass didn’t ask for anything more.” She says softly, and while it’s a vague enough statement, he gets the distinct impression that it’s mostly for Shiro’s sake.

He sighs. “You’re right.” Lifting a hand, he drapes it over hers, tangling their fingers together.... _Oh_. Well... that’s new. Or is it? Who the fuck knows anymore. His hand stays on Allura’s, but his eyes drift back to Keith’s.

Keith isn’t looking at any of them though. His eyes are fixed firmly on the floor, arms crossed over his chest, hair falling down around his face.

Hunk lifts a hand, one finger pointed toward the ceiling. The movement catches Lance’s attention. “Um, soooo...” His eyes dart around the room, sliding from person to person. “Maybe we should talk about—“

Before he can even finish, Keith huffs, loud and cutting. His hands shoot down to his sides as he turns on his heel, stalking out of the room, footsteps echoing. They all watch him go, and stare at the door long after it’s shut.

Lance sighs, crossing his arms over his chest as he turns back to his team—

They’re staring at him. All with various degrees of expectancy, confusion, and worry.

He frowns, brows pinching as he looks between them. “What?”

That seems to startle them, gazes snapping as they shift on their feet. “Uh, nothing, buddy.” Hunk says, scratching the back of his neck and sending him a small, reassuring smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Pidge sighs, loud and tired. “Well, we got the feorhite.” She says, holding it up for everyone to see.

It’s surface is uneven and a deep, translucent red. It should catch the light, and the light _does_ refract off it’s surface, but it doesn’t penetrate and cast red specks the way Lance things a crystal should. It’s like, despite its translucent appearance, it’s depths are impenetrable. It’s strangely creepy, and he feels the hair standing up on the back of his neck.

“I guess we can start working on the prototype now.” She continues, tossing the stone up into the air once and snatching it decisively out of the air before turning and going to her chair. “I think we’re nearly done with our calculations...”

“Well, then.” Coran cuts in, clasping his hands together loudly. He stands before them all, straight backed and genuine smile on his face. “This still counts as a victory, and as such, Lance,” Coran gestures to him, eyes bright and sparkling. “If you would do the honors?”

Lance just stares at him. “Um... what?”

The sparkle dims a bit, brows furrowing as his smile fades. He pulls his hand back. “Oh... Oh dear, I forgot, you must not have that tradition yet in your time.” He looks at the others. “Would that be too... what was the word you used?”

“Spoilery?” Hunk suggest.

Coran snaps his fingers and points. “Yes, that one.”

Shiro smiles, but it only does so much to dissipate the worry lines around his eyes. “I think it should be fine.”

Allura slips her free arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close in silent comfort, and he leans into her. Her smile is small, but genuine. “I think some of your Earth music is just what we need to lift our spirits.”

Lance’s eyebrows shoot up. “Earth music?”

“Yeah, dude!” Hunk says, suddenly filled with excitement as he grabs Lance’s wrist and drags him over to his seat. He pushes Lance into it and pulls up the display, shuffling through it until he hits a button that says _Jukebox_.

Lance’s mouth drops open as a list appears, a wide variety of song titles listed in alphabetical order. He scrolls through them with shaking hands. “What—“ He has to swallow past the lump in his throat, blinking back the stinging sensation in his eyes. “What _is_ this?”

Hunks hands land on his shoulders from over the back of his chair, squeezing, thumbs digging into the meat of his shoulders. He shakes him lightly. “Music, dude! We managed to download all the songs off of Pidge’s computer and upload them onto the castle’s database, and then she programmed this jukebox application to our chairs! We can play music over the speakers!”

“Oh, my _god_ ,” He gasps, eyes alight as he tilts his head back to look up at Hunk, grin hurting his cheeks. “This is _awesome!_ ”

“I _know!_ ” Hunk says with a laugh. “It was your idea, too!”

Lance laughs, turning back to the list. “Of course, it was! I have great ideas!”

“Allura got pretty sick of the constant music though.” Pidge says from across the room.

“No,” Allura says, pout on her lips as she glares at Pidge. She then straightens, putting a hand to her chest and lifting her chin. “I simply grew tired of Lance using the application to play music at inappropriate times.”

Hunk snorts, leaning over Lance’s chair to whisper loudly. “You Rick-rolled her too many times.”

Lance snickers. “Classic.”

“Right?” They fist bump fists, and Hunk continues. “So now there’s a tradition that when we get back from a successful mission, you get to pick out a victory song. Helps us destress, you know? Lightens the mood.”

“I’m a fucking genius.” He mutters, scrolling through the songs, nostalgia and homesickness weighing heavily on his heart even as his skin buzzes with familiarity and excitement.

But even the prospect of hearing music from home isn’t enough to fill the strange hollow feeling filling his chest.

He wonders what Keith’s favorite song is.

 

* * *

 

Things settle into a pattern around the castle.

He’s not sure what the team has been doing in the future. It’s pretty clear they’re still answering distress beacons and going on missions and stuff, but they’ve been extremely tight-lipped about exactly where in the whole _defeat Zarkon_ thing they are. They won’t answer any of his questions about that, and he gets it. He really does. So he doesn’t push the questions.

But whether they’ve defeated him or not, it’s clear that they’re taking a break while they work out the whole _Lance swap_ dilemma. They don’t even portal around, so either they’ve found a safe pocket of space to chill in, or they’re not worried about being hunted.

Either way, it means not much is happening.

Which means Lance is _bored_.

Pidge and Hunk spend nearly all of their waking hours working on the device they’ve designed. Half the time when Lance pops in, which is often, they’re working on it, and half the time they’re having to rework calculations. Whenever Pidge needs to redesign, she ends up in the Bridge with Coran, making holographic models and running the numbers.

When they’re doing that, Lance usually ends up following Hunk to the kitchen where he bakes to relax. Lance just lays himself out over the counters and listens as Hunk talks on and on about different ingredients and things he’s found on various planets. Lance doesn’t understand half of it, but that’s not the point. It’s familiar and comfortable, and most importantly, he’s not alone.

On occasion, he catches Hunk’s worried eye and the subtle nod towards a very frazzled Pidge, and Lance takes that as his cue to bodily drag her away for some de-stressing time, which usually involves more video games because the set up is _awesome_.

He’s roped into helping Coran around the castle a few times, and he takes to ducking out of the room whenever he comes around, which leaves them playing a very elaborate game of hide-and-seek. Lance is a pro, with years of experience under his belt, but Coran knows the in’s and out’s of the castle, and he’s surprisingly persistent and agile. Keeps Lance on his toes.

He starts to suspect Coran is only playing this unspoken game to keep him occupied, to keep his mind from wandering. He appreciates it, but _damn_ , he is not a fan of jump scares when Coran bursts out of vents and leaps out of compartments that Lance didn’t even know were _there_.

He finds Allura in the bridge a lot, communicating with others. She always stops the transmissions when he comes in, smiles politely, and asks him about his day. She never asks him to leave, but he knows when he’s not wanted. _Spoilers_ and all that. So he leaves her to it.

The other half of the time, he finds her with Shiro, whether it’s relaxing in the lounge or sparring in the training deck.

He doesn’t see Shiro around a lot, and he suspects that might have something to do with Keith.

He hasn’t really seen Keith much since the incident on Achore.

Keith mostly slinks around the castle at odd hours, keeping to himself. If he’s in a room when people enter, he leaves right away, never making eye contact and rarely speaking. Lance has caught him a few times on the training deck and when he sneaks into the kitchen for snacks, but the conversation is halting and the atmosphere is tense.

If he’s being honest, he’s worrying. He hates seeing him like this, especially since this just... isn’t something he’s seen this new future Keith _do_. But he also knows that it’s not _him_ that Keith wants to see. It’s other him. Future him. Would future Lance even have a chance of comforting him? He likes to think he does. Too bad he’s not here.

So he leaves it to Shiro. He leaves it to Pidge and Hunk. To Allura and Coran. He knows they’re all worried, too. He can see it in how their expressions change when the subject is brought up. In the way they look at him when he leaves a room. It’s in their too bright smiles that don’t reach their eyes.

If they’re having a hard time getting through that wall Keith has built around him, what chance does Lance have?

So he just... keeps on keeping on.

He wakes with little sleep, attempts and fails to figure out his multitude of beauty products, eats breakfast with the others, wanders around the castle, hangs out with Hunk and Pidge, checks in on Shiro and Allura, teaches Earth games to Coran, and eventually retires to his too quiet room to toss and turn in his not-quite-the-same bed.

It’s a pattern, and he should find comfort in it, but he doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

“Have any of you seen Keith lately?” Lance asks from his position on the floor. He’s lying on his back, feet sticking straight up and propped up on Hunk’s work table. He fiddles with some kind of Altean tool. It kind of looks like a hammer crossed with a wrench, but there’s this spiny bit that’s completely baffling.

Hunk hums to himself, wiping sweat from his brow before bending low to get on eye level with whatever he’s working on, eyes sharp and scrutinizing. “I saw him headed toward the kitchen this morning after breakfast. When I checked later, the left overs were gone, so at least we can assume he’s eating.”

“I saw him in the lounge this morning. Like... really early this morning.” Pidge adds without looking up from her laptop. She’s sitting crosslegged on the table, wires and metal scraps strewn around her. He knows she’s scrolling through a chunk of code. She’s been doing it for hours, eyes glazed and dim but determined. “I don’t think he’s sleeping in his room.”

Lance lifts his head at that, propping himself up on his elbows. “Why not?”

She just shrugs and mutters something noncommittal under her breath.

“Probably because he’s not used to sleeping in there.” Hunk says offhandedly, lifting a chunk of metal and holding it next to the device, eyeing it carefully.

Lance’s brows shoot up. “Keith doesn’t normally sleep in his room?”

Pidge’s head snaps up, and Hunk blanks. “Uhhh—“ Then whatever’s in his hands slips, hitting the table hard and scattering things everywhere. “ _Dammit!_ ” He curses, scrambling to stop things from rolling to the floor. “He just—“ He mutters, trying to set everything back into its place. “He’s just like that sometimes, you know? Just, uh, Keith things?”

Lance hums his acknowledgement. He’s getting used to just accepting Keith’s weird habits.

He pulls his feet to the floor, sitting up as he moves to help Hunk pick up the things that have fallen. His eyes are drawn to a couple silver disks. He picks one up, turning it over carefully in his fingers. It looks simple enough. About the size of his palm, flat on one side, slightly rounded on the other.

It looks a lot like the disks he’s found in the arm compartments of his chair and in Blue’s cockpit.

“Hey, Hunk, what’re these?” He asks, holding it up.

Hunk glances up at him, face blank before splitting into a wide grin. “Oh! Here, I’ll show you.” He reaches out a hand, and Lance pushes himself to his feet, leaning over the table to give it to him. “They’re like... holographic picture frames.” He explains, setting the flat end down on the table. “You can upload pictures to them, and then you just—“ He presses a finger to the center of the disk, and it depresses like a button. When he lifts his hand, the button lights up with a dull blue glow before shooting a projection into the air. “Ta-da!”

And there, hovering in the air above the disk, is a picture of them. All of them. The team. It looks like Lance is holding the camera at arms length, smirking and eyes glinting. His arm is thrown over Keith’s shoulder, who’s giving the camera this small, shy smile. Pidge is in front of them, grinning wide with two peace signs. Hunk stands behind them, smiling broadly with his arms around both Lance and Keith. Shiro stands next to them, arm around Allura’s shoulders as she lifts a hand in a small wave. Coran leans across the corner of the image, mimicking Pidge’s pose.

They all look... so happy. Relaxed. They carry more scars than Lance is used to, but not as many as he knows are now there. Hunk’s ears aren’t pierced, but the stubble on his jaw has grown out more. Pidge’s hair is long and shaggy, pulled into haphazard pigtails. Allura’s hair is still long. Shiro’s arm is still Galra tech. Him and Keith are about the same height.

Lance looks... almost exactly the same as he does now. His hair a little longer, falling more over his forehead and curling a little at his nape. It’s... almost eery to see a memory where he looks so similar but hasn’t yet experienced.

“Whoa...” He breaths, leaning to the left and then to the right, eyes fixed on the image. The picture itself seems to be made so that it always looks like it’s facing him, no matter what angle he looks at it from. It’s not completely see through, but there are spots where reflecting light slips through the otherwise solid image. “This is awesome.”

“I know, right?” Hunk says proudly, picking up a few more from around his desk and turning them on for Lance to see. They’re all more candid shots of the team, mostly around the castle. There’s a couple of Shay and the Balmerans as well, including one where Hunk and Shay are making faces at the camera. “We found them on a swap moon a while ago, and we kind of went on a picture kick. Makes the castle a little more homey, you know?”

“Yeah,” He says with a soft smile. “It does.”

“There should be a few around your room.”

Lance looks up at that, brows furrowing. “Really? I didn’t see any...”

Hunk’s eyes widen a fraction, mouth opening before quickly closing. “Oh,” He looks to Pidge, who gives him a glare, lips pursed into a thin, straight line.

Then she sighs, lifting both hands to rub at her temples as she closes her eyes. “I think I remember Lance saying they were malfunctioning and brought them to me to look at.” She says flatly, sounding tired. “That’s probably why they’re not in your room.”

“Oh...” He blinks, a nervous fluttering in his chest. He’s not sure he wants to see them. He doesn’t know what he’ll find or how he’ll feel seeing himself that’s not really himself. At least not yet. But... his curiosity is a monster of a thing. “Can I... see them?”

She opens her eyes, giving him an unreadable look before turning back to her laptop. “Yeah, I’ll... look into it after all of—“ She mutters, waving her hand around vaguely. “ _This_ is settled.”

“Thanks, Pidge.”

“Yeah, no problem.” She says, but she doesn’t sound like she means it.

 

* * *

 

He knows the team is doing their best to being accommodating and understanding. He knows this. He knows they care about him, and he knows that they’re not going to abandon him. The fact remains that he’s still _Lance_. He may not have all the memories, but he’s still Lance. He’s part of their past, just as they’re apart of his future.

But there are things they talk about that he’s not allowed to know. He knows, logically, that this is going to be the case. But that doesn’t stop the awkwardness that happens whenever he walks into a room and they abruptly stop talking. It doesn’t stop the pitying smiles and worried eyes. It doesn’t stop the silent looks they give each other when they think he’s not paying attention.

He knows they’re not _trying_ to alienate him, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not going to happen sometimes.

And to be fair, it doesn’t happen all the time. Most of the time he _likes_ being around his team, even if it’s his future team. He likes seeing how they’ve changed and how they’re the same.

But sometimes, being with them is just as lonely as being alone.

Whenever he starts to feel that way, a knot curling in his gut and skin itching at the looks they’re giving him, giving each other. Whenever the atmosphere around his friends gets to be too thick, and he just _knows_ that deep down they want him to leave so they can discuss things, future things, him. Whenever that happens, he finds himself in what’s now becoming his alcove.

There are so many like it along the castle hallways. Dozens. All little alcoves with windows that stare out into space. But this is the one he comes to. He found it his first day here, and his feet carry him back to it out of habit.

Sometimes, when the stars aren’t comfort enough, he finds himself sitting with his back to the window, eyes glued to the odd line of Altean script that’s carved into the otherwise smooth surface of the wall opposite his little nook.

He can’t read the words. Hell, he can’t even tell if they’re letters or numbers or whatever. But he stares at it. Starts to see it as a picture. Memorizes every curve, every line, every angle, every loop. Stares at it and wonders what it might say. Stares at it until he can close his eyes and trace it out behind his eyelids.

Stares at it because if he does that, he doesn’t have to think. Doesn’t have to think about his team and what has them so worried. Doesn’t have to think about how his friends are doing in the past. Doesn’t have to think about how Keith is still avoiding everyone and can’t seem to look Lance in the eye. Doesn’t have to think about the headaches he gets sometimes or the way his stomach burns long after he’s eaten anything.

He just stares at the etched words and loses himself in Altean script.

 

* * *

 

It’s not that he’s _scared_ to talk to Keith. He’s not a coward, and he’s not stupid. He knows Keith needs to talk to _someone_ about what happened on Achore. Otherwise it’ll just get worse and worse. He knows how Keith deals with things. He bottles them inside, telling himself that he’s fine. He’s _not_ fine, and Lance knows that. He knows it because of the phantom memory of Keith curled up in his arms, body shaking and eyes vacant.

So yeah, it’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to check up on Keith. It’s that he doesn’t really think it’s his place.

That doesn’t, however, stop him from worrying. He’s been wandering the castle more and more, aimlessly drifting between all the places he _knows_ Keith hangs out at, hoping to catch a glimpse of the red paladin, but the most he gets is the sound of footsteps and the blur of dark hair going around a corner.

Hunk and Pidge are worried, but both of them seem to be at a loss for what to do about it. He can’t really blame them. They’re so wholly focused on the whole time machine building anyway. Coran says he just needs space, and Allura says he’ll come around when he’s ready.

That really doesn’t sit well with Lance because when it comes down to it, he _really_ hates waiting.

So since he can’t really bring himself to go hunt down Keith himself, he goes for the next best thing: Shiro.

After not finding him in Black’s hangar or in any of the obvious communal areas, Lance tries his room. He hesitates for only a moment before knocking, stepping back and squaring his shoulders as he waits. He has just enough time to start to doubt whether or not this was a good idea before the door slides open and Shiro is standing there.

He gapes, words dying on his tongue and trailing off into a strangled sound.

Shiro’s shirtless, and damn is he _ripped_. And yeah, Lance pretty much knew that already, but he’d never _seen it_ , let along up close and personal. Like _damn_. He thought people only existed like that on wrestling programs and on the cover of romance novels.

Not only is he ripped, but every inch of bared skin is covered in scars. Some are older than others, just the barest of white lines. Others are newer, pinker. Some are small, hair thin lines. Others are clearly things he could have very well died from. He doesn’t know how many of those scars are from his time in the Galra arena, and how many are from his time as a paladin, but either way, it makes Lance’s stomach sink, knotting in worry and sympathy.

None of that holds his attention so much as the fact that he’s missing his prosthetic arm.

So Lance is left standing there, mouth open and brain barely functioning, overrun with awe, surprise, sympathy, and a million other emotions. And all he can manage to do is mutter, “ _Holy shit._ ”

Either this is normal behavior, or Shiro chooses to graciously ignore his minor meltdown. He just smiles the kind of small welcoming smile he reserves just for the team and says, “Hey, Lance.”

The sound of his voice snaps him back to reason. He slaps his jaw shut, ignoring the ache as his eyes shoot up to Shiro’s face. He feels heat crawling up his neck, but Shiro’s just smiling, amusement in his eyes. “I, uh, _hey_ , Shiro...” He scratches the back of his neck, eyes drifting down the hall.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

He sighs, letting his arms drop, eyes lifting to Shiro’s. He’s watching him carefully, eyebrows raised. “Uh... yeah. I just... wanted to talk to you for a moment? About Keith? If that’s okay...”

Shiro’s face softens instantly. “Yeah, of course. Come in.”

He turns and walks back into the room, and Lance follows, standing awkwardly as the door shuts behind him. “Soooo...” He says, trailing off as his eyes roam back to where his prosthetic should be. Where his arm ends is wrapped up in bandages, the skin above them showing angry pink scars that spread out like veins, cracks in his flesh. “Your arm comes off?”

He glances over his shoulder at him, blinking before chuckling. He gestures to the bed, where the white and teal prosthetic lays, harmless and innocent as a detached arm can be. “Yeah, this new one does. The Galra one... not so much.” His brows furrow a little at that, a memory sending a shiver down his spine before he shakes his head. When he looks back at Lance, he’s smiling again. “So what’d you want to talk about?” His voice is soft, kind, and encouraging.

But it does nothing to ease the awkward feeling rising up his throat.

He lifts a hand to rub at his other arm, suddenly wishing he had his jacket. It’s such a simple thing, but it always felt like armor. Comfort. Something to hide in and give him strength. He feels exposed without it. He needs to see if he can find it.

“Have you talked with Keith since...” He trails off, unsure of how to finish his question.

Thankfully, Shiro knows what he’s asking. “I have, but... he didn’t really want to talk about it.” He sighs, running his hand through his hair, gaze drifting to the side. “He was forced to relive something very traumatic for him— for all of us, really. And he had to live through iterations of that memory that went a lot worse—“

“You know what he saw?” Lance asks, curiosity clawing at his gut. He knows better than to ask Keith, but he has this knot of dread in his stomach that clues him in to the fact that it has something to do with him. If the way Keith clung to him is anything to go by. “Did he tell you?”

Shiro’s smile is small and sad, eyes dark and heavy. “He didn’t have to.” He says, voice low. “We all know what he saw.”

“I don’t...” He grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes moving to the floor.

“And that’s probably for the best.”

Lance sighs but doesn’t push it, because as annoying as it is, he knows Shiro is right.

“You’re worried about him.” Shiro says, voice kind and understanding, with an edge of _something_ that’s way too soft for Lance to name. It’s not judgmental or amused. Simply a matter of fact. And perhaps with an edge of relief.

Lance glances up at him through his lashes, then scoffs, turning his head to the side, shifting his weight to one foot as he rolls his shoulders. “Well, _yeah_ , we all are. He just...” He waves a hand around vaguely, huffing as he tries to find the right words. “He didn’t look very good when we got back from Achore, you know? And no one’s seen much of him lately, and so I thought I’d come to _you_ because he actually talks to you.”

Shiro starts to cross his arm over his chest before seeming to realize the other isn’t there. He glances down, surprise followed by disgruntled embarrassment and he moves to put his hand on his hip instead. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but he doesn’t really want to talk to me about it either.”

Lance’s brows shoot up at that. “But he he talks to you about _everything_. You guys are close. Like, me and Hunk kinda close.”

Shiro’s smile is small, but his eyes are sad. “Yeah, I think that’s the problem. Talking to me will just make him face things that he doesn’t want to face right now. He doesn’t want to talk about what he saw. He wants to forget about it.”

“Have you even _tried?_ ” He asks, wincing a little at how petulant he sounds.

But Shiro doesn’t look mad. He shakes his head. “I have, and I’ve gotten him to spend some time with me. I can still convince him to eat food and get some sleep, but every time I try to bring it up, he just leaves.” He looks off to the side, eyes a little distant as he shrugs. He looks... almost sad, but not quite. There’s resignation there, but it’s not a bad kind. He’s not quite happy either. Somewhere in a strange, gray in-between. Like he _wants_ to be happy, but it’s distorted by the same worry that’s been plaguing all of them since Lance got here. “He doesn’t have just me anymore. He has all of us, and he depends on all of us. And he doesn’t really come to me with this sort of stuff anymore.”

Lance’s brows pinch, confusion contorting his features. “If not _you_ , then who?”

Shiro’s smile is back, restrained amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes as his gaze slides back to Lance. “You.”

His eyes widen, and he lets out a squeaky, “ _Me?_ ”

Shiro just nods, amusement leaking out to widen his smile, making it a hair more genuine. “You guys have really gotten closer over the past year. Keith and I are like family, but you’re the one he likes to talk to. If I know him half as well as I’m sure I do, he’s probably waiting for you to go to him.”

Lance feels like his floundering, limbs buzzing and nausea rolling his stomach. _Him?_ He can’t— he’s not— He can’t do anything for Keith. He’s just—

“But I’m not—“ He chokes off his words, clearing his throat and trying for a voice that’s more calm. He can barely hear the quiver in it. “I’m not _him_.” He says softly, unable to meet Shiro’s eyes.

Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and when he looks up, Shiro’s expression is open and honest, understanding and pitying. But not in a way that makes Lance feel small. In a way that makes him want to be better, _do_ better, be the person that Shiro seems to think he is.

“Keith doesn’t need _him_. He just needs Lance.”

Shiro’s smile is infectious, and Lance suddenly feels like he can breathe again. A weight he hadn’t even realized was there feels like it’s lifted from his shoulders, no longer pressing on his chest. “Thanks, Shiro.”

“No problem, Lance.” He steps back, scratching the back of his neck. “Now, uh... If you’ll excuse me, I was just about to—“ He gestures toward the bathroom.

“Right, yeah, no, got it.” He says, already walking backwards toward the door. “Nice talk, though. I’ll, uh... see what I can do about Keith.”

He hadn’t realized how tense Shiro had been until he sees it melt out of him, shoulders relaxing and expression easing. “Thanks, Lance. Good luck.”

He turns toward the bathroom as Lance starts to turn toward the door, but he freezes, eyes drifting to the bed, landing firmly on the abandoned arm. All shiny and white and teal. Probably with cool new Altean abilities and stuff. His gaze flickers to Shiro’s retreating form, then back to the arm.

The team has really been far too stressed out lately. Would it really be so bad of him to lighten the mood a little?

By the time he hears Shiro shout after him, he’s halfway down the hall, robotic arm clutched to his chest, and a wide grin stretching his lips. He laughs loudly, calling over his shoulder, “ _Catch me if you can, Mrs. Nesbitt!”_

 

* * *

 

Sleep is something that still evades him.

No matter how comfortable he starts to feel, no matter how well he starts to adjust to this whole future thing, sleep still won’t come easy. Even when he’s bone weary and exhausted, eyes burning and body heavy, sleep still dances just on the edges of his reach, taking hours to fully grasp.

He doesn’t think it’s anything big either. It’s all subtle things. His room still doesn’t smell right. It doesn’t smell _wrong_ either. It’s a subtle difference. Something that he can’t place but recognizes anyway. He can’t tell if he’s bothered that it’s there, or if he’s bothered that it’s fading.

His room is also too silent. Too still. That’s always been a problem. He comes from a big family and a house that just manages to contain them all. There’s always noise, be it the house itself creaking, snoring from another room, or just voices. There’s always noise. Always signs of life. The castle is silent and still, and it’s unnerving.

He’d stolen Pidge’s headphones to deal with it when they first got to space, and he was surprised to find them missing from his room in the future. He wonders if he’s finally adjusted to it, if he’s found a way to cope, or if they somehow broke.

When he went to Pidge to ask her if they’re still around, she dug them up and sheepishly handed them over, but when he asked why she had taken them back, she just shrugged and said that he didn’t need them anymore.

Even with the headphones and the classical music, he doesn’t feel soothed. His skin hasn’t been treated in days. His bed feels oddly different. More worn? The blankets don’t lay right. Everything is familiar, yet just so subtly different to make the world of difference.

Plus his brain just won’t _shut up_.

Thinking about this future team. Thinking about all the differences. Thinking about what they could have possibly gone through. Thinking about what _he’s_ like in the future. Thinking about how his own team is fairing with future him. Did they like that version of him more? How different is he?

Everything is the same, and yet it’s so different, and it’s driving him up a wall.

And to top it all off, he feels like he’s coming down with something. He hasn’t gotten sick since going to space, but he supposes it was only a matter of time. It’s just a tickle at the back of his throat, a heaviness in his lungs, a mild unsettled feeling in his stomach, sometimes a headache.

If it gets worse, maybe he’ll ask Coran if he can pop into a healing pod for a few ticks to make it go away.

As it stands right now though, Lance can’t sleep, and he’s frustrated enough that he gives up trying. Headphones tossed aside, feet snug in his slippers, a blanket draped over his shoulders and wrapped tight around him, he shuffles through the castle hallways.

The lights are dimmed to simulate a night atmosphere. Just enough to see by, but not enough to mess up their circadian rhythm or whatever. Truth be told, he’s not really a fan of it. It gives the castle this really eery vibe. Sometimes the lights flicker and he has to swallow down the lump in his throat.

But it’s fine. He’s cool. He just has to get to his spot, and he’ll be fine. He’ll nestle himself in the little alcove by the window and gaze out at the stars and hope he can finally—

He stops as he rounds the corner, surprised to find that his new favorite spot is actually occupied.

Keith. Sitting up against one of the small walls of the alcove, leaning half against the window. Eyes lost and unfocused, expression lax and forlorn as he gazes out at the stars. But his presence there isn’t the most surprising part. It’s the fact that he’s wearing Lance’s missing jacket. It’s wrapped up tight around him, dwarfing him, hood draped loosely over his head, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around them.

It makes him look small. Vulnerable. Exposed in a way that Lance really doesn’t think he’s meant to see. Like he’s intruding on something private and personal.

Part of him is screaming at him to turn around, to back out slowly, to find a new spot and leave Keith to do his brooding thing. But he takes another look at his face, at the pinch between his brows, the lines around his frown. This isn’t just normal brooding, loner Keith. This is the Keith who experienced something terrible and clung to Lance like his last lifeline before removing himself altogether and retreating in on himself.

Scared. Vulnerable. In desperate need of _something_ , and Lance doesn’t know what it is, but he sure as hell wants to find out what it is and if he can provide it. Because Keith is his teammate. His... his friend. Part of this strange space family that he fell into.

He thinks about the soft smiles Keith has sent him since he arrived. He thinks about how he had buried his face in Lance’s neck, breaths shaky and shuddering. He thinks about Shiro’s words.

And really, his decision is already made.

He’s in motion again, sauntering over to the alcove as best he can while he’s wrapped up in a blanket cocoon, and plops down across from Keith with all the grace he can muster.

Keith starts, literally jerking straighter, head lifting off the glass and blinking owlishly at Lance. He can _see_ Keith’s eyes come back into focus, mind working sluggishly slow as he readjusts to reality. All the while he stares in open, innocent confusion, face more open than he thinks he’s ever seen it. It’s... well, it’s adorable, really.

Which isn’t something he likes to associate with Keith at all, so he really needs to fix this whole moping Keith thing _stat_.

He just leans back against the wall, knees bent, blanket wrapped around him like battle armor, and watches with a small, amused smile as Keith’s mind finally starts turning again. “Evening.” He says casually, smirk light on his lips.

The sound of his voice seems to startle Keith back to his senses. His head pulls back a little, straightening just a bit as his brows pinch. His mouth opens and closes a few times before settling into something similar to a pout. “What’re you doing here?” He finally asks, voice low and a little hoarse from disuse.

Lance shrugs, feeling the drag of his shoulders against the wall. “Couldn’t sleep. What’re _you_ doing here?”

Keith’s eyes drag away from him, a slow, lazy drift until they’re staring back out the window. “Couldn’t sleep.” He echoes back, but Lance knows he means it. He can see it in the sag of his shoulders, in the heavy bags under his eyes.

“Why _here_ though?” He pushes.

Keith just shrugs, and Lance waits. His eyes roam the stars, but they’re not dull and vacant anymore. Distant, yes, but alive and alert. When he speaks again, it’s a soft mumble, almost offhanded in it’s delivery, and he’s expecting it to be low and melancholy. But he’s surprised when Keith’s voice is oddly light, a bitter sweet note that’s easy to miss. “This is where you come to clear your head.”

He says it simply. A matter of fact. And Lance is left gaping. Because yes, while that _is_ true, it’s only been a recent thing. Like a since-he-got-time-blasted-to-the-future thing. Guess habits die hard?

But really, who’s he to question Keith about future him? He knows him a lot better than Lance does himself. Which is... weird, honestly. He never thought he’d be a stranger to himself. It leaves him feeling oddly disjointed, a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit, despite looking like it should.

So instead of pushing further, he decides to change the subject.

“I see you found my jacket.” He says, keeping his tone neutral and light. He shoots for nonchalance, but he knows there’s a teasing edge that just seems to come out around Keith.

Keith’s eyes snap back to his, wide and surprised, before he looks down, holding his hand up as if he’s shocked to see the sleeves of Lance’s jacket stretched over them. He then curls up a little tighter, pulling into himself a little more, chin tilted downward as he looked up at Lance through the veil of his bangs.

“Yeah, I... I did. It’s just... comfortable.” His smile is small and sheepish, but his eyes glint with challenge and an edge of warning. Then he looks down, fingers picking at a loose thread on the cuff of one sleeve. Eyes downcast, his voice softens. “It reminds me of— of you...” He trails off, uncertain, lips pursing as they twist into a small frown.

“Of the other me.” Lance finishes for him, voice soft with sympathy. Keith stiffens, lips pressed tight, looking like he’s bracing himself for Lance to snap at him again. But while Lance feels a spark of irritation, it doesn’t flare into an angry fire. Instead, it fades into a dull ache. Because he gets it. He really does. He _is_ Lance, but there’s a Lance out there who has a _history_ with this Keith. A year of shared memories and experiences that he can’t even begin to relate to.

It’s... a little sad. A little lonely. Leaves him feeling hollow and gutted. He recognizes the feeling, and he hates it, because it’s stupid to be jealous of himself. That’s going to be him one day. He’s going to be _that Lance_. The one who deserves to be on the receiving end of Keith’s soft smiles, teasing smirks, and the worried glances. He’ll be the one Keith trusts enough to go to when he’s feeling vulnerable, and he’ll be the Lance who actually knows how to handle it.

And that thought... is actually a huge relief. A soothing balm on his worries and insecurities that twist and writhe deep within the shadows of himself.

“ _Your_ Lance.” He says, making sure his voice is soft and understanding. Letting Keith know that it hurts, but he gets it. He’s not _him_. But he will be.

Keith relaxes almost instantly, entire body sagging, slipping an inch further down the wall. He doesn’t look up, but he does smile. It’s just the barest tilt of his lips. So small that he doubts Keith even realizes he’s doing it. “Yeah,” He says, something in his voice that Lance refuses to put an name to. “My Lance.”

“What’s he like?” The words are out of Lance’s mouth before he can really think them, and it’s too late to take them back.

Keith looks up at him sharply, expression suddenly hard and guarded. It’s a quick switch that has Lance reeling. He didn’t realize how much he’s gotten used to the more open Keith until he’s suddenly staring into that all-too-familiar unyielding expression. His eyes flicker across Lance’s face, unreadable.

Lance tries not to fidget under his scrutiny and fails miserably. He does, however, hold his gaze, even as his fingers pick at the edges of his blanket, weight shifting as the floor is suddenly way too hard.

Keith has always been the most stubborn about revealing anything about his future, and Lance should probably just take it back and move on, but curiosity is clawing at him, nipping at his heels. He wants to know _something_ about who he’s going to be. _Anything_ so he can ground himself and stop feeling like he’s drifting away half the time.

“Me,” He tries again, clearing his throat when he feels his voice start to crack. He hardens his resolve, words coming out firmer, eyes meeting Keith’s head on. Two can play the unyielding game. He’s stubborn, too, dammit. “Future me. What am I like?”

He doesn’t _mean_ to sound as vulnerable and desperate as he feels, and he thinks he does a pretty good job, but Keith’s whole demeanor changes near instantly, relaxing, gaze softening and a stupid knowing look in his eyes that tells Lance that he can read between the lines.

He leans his head back against the window, eyes distant again. One of his arms unwraps from his legs to clutch at the front of his shirt, fingers fiddling with something beneath it. It’s a gesture that Lance has been noticing more and more frequently.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, to the point where Lance doesn’t think Keith will answer him at all. When he does speak, it’s soft but crystal clear, not so much shattering the silence as diving straight through it, a sharp jab that breaks through to the other side while leaving just the barest hairline fractures in its wake.

“You’re...well, you’re _you_.”

Lance blinks. Seconds pass. Then he scoffs, rolling his eyes and gathering the blanket tighter around him. “Gee, thanks, Keith.” He says dryly, pout on his lips and a glare in his eyes.

Keith doesn’t look at him, but his shoulder shake in silent laughter, lips quirked just so. “I know how it sounds, but... really. You’re just _you_.”

“And what _am_ I, exactly?” He asks, nerves fraying at the edges of his heart, uncertainty clawing at his gut.

Keith doesn’t seem to notice. He tilts his head a little more and the hood of Lance’s jacket slides halfway down. His breath catches in his throat when he gets the full impression of Keith’s expression. Calm. Content. Distant, but incredibly fond. He’s not used to seeing Keith so soft, lacking all the jagged edges he wears like armor.

He hums softly to himself. “Strong.” He finally says. “Confident. Loyal. Selfless. Charismatic. Incredibly kind and incredibly caring. Empathetic. Brave.”

Lance quirks a small smirk, coating himself in cocky confidence to keep himself from crumbling. His voice is unwavering, even as his fingers shake. “You forgot funny, smart, handsome, and suave.”

Keith snorts a short laugh, shaking his head against the window. The hood falls the rest of the way down, exposing layers of messy, dark hair, framing his face and pooling at his shoulders. “Yeah, those, too.”

And... yeah, okay, he isn’t expecting _agreement_. Every time he thinks he has this Keith figured out, the ground is ripped from beneath his feet. His mouth feels dry, and he licks his lips, keeping his voice even and light, teasing. “Careful, Keith,” He says, cocking his head to the side. “Or someone might think you don’t hate me.”

He looks at him then, and Lance is pinned by the intensity of his gaze. “I don’t hate you.” He says it so openly, so matter-of-factly, without a single hesitation or doubt. “I’ve never hated you.”

That’s... news to him. Information that he doesn’t really know what to do it. It wedges itself into his mental image of Keith, forcing it apart and threatening to shatter everything he thinks he knows. He doesn’t know how to deal with this now, so he deflects, shoves it away for later, tries another angle.

“So are we still rivals?” He asks instead, keeping things teasing and light.

It works. Keith smiles that small, amused smile that he’s becoming increasingly familiar with, and rolls his eyes. “I don’t think you’ll ever let that go.” He says, but pauses, thoughtful. “But... We’re more than that now.”

Lance quirks an eyebrow. “Like... friends?”

He hums again, that smile still in place. “Like... partners.”

Lance brightens a little at that. “Like... super cool space ranger partners? Traveling across the universe, defeating evil, and protecting the people?”

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes, but there’s a soft laugh there. “Something like that.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

Silence again, still thick and uncomfortable. Not awkward, just... heavy. It makes him fidget in place, fingers playing with the edges of his blanket, feet crossing and uncrossing, toes wiggling inside his slippers. He came here to relax, but he’s not relaxing. Even with things calm between him and Keith, there’s still a thick black cloud hanging over them. Or rather, over Keith.

Lance watches him, openly and without reserve. Keith doesn’t seem to even notice. His eyes are out the window, the spark and fire that normally lives in his navy eyes is dimmed and muted, dying and dark. The bags under his eyes are nearly the same color. He looks pale, lines showing tension around his eyes and mouth. His skin looks tight, hair ragged and unkempt.

The change is subtle. So subtle that he’s certain that he might not have seen it at all if he hadn’t been looking so closely. But with every second that ticks by in silence, the more the ease and openness in Keith’s expression bleeds away. The softness recedes slowly, pulling away until his usual unreadable expression rises to the surface, a mask to hide behind.

But the mask has cracks, and he’s not as unreadable as he probably thinks he is. Lance can see the tension in his temple from where he grits his teeth, the minuscule movement as he grinds them. The way his eyes squint a fraction. The way his nostrils flare. The fingers fiddling with the front of his shirt have stilled, instead fist clenched tight around both cloth and whatever lies beneath. The arm that’s still wrapped around his knees is stiff, fingers curled, knuckles white.

“Stop grinding your teeth.” He says automatically.

Keith startles, whole body doing this small jerk before he blinks, gaze sliding to Lance’s, searching his face. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, but it’s masked by confusion and surprise. “What?”

“Stop grinding your teeth.” He repeats, stern. “It’s not good for you, and it’s not like we have space dentists we can go to. Or...” He trails off, suddenly thoughtful. “Maybe there are, but I dunno about you, but I _really_ don’t want to go have some alien without the knowledge of human anatomy poking around inside my mouth.”

Keith’s smile is barely there. It’s not curving his lips, but it’s in his eyes. In the way his cheeks lift just a little. In the way the tension eases, if only for a moment.

Lance counts it as a win.

“You’re not sleeping.” He says, voice soft and reproachful, careful as he edges into a conversation he knows Keith doesn’t want to have.

Keith rolls his eyes again, huffing softly. “Yeah, no shit.”

He knows Keith hasn’t slept much since the whole switch thing happened. He’s never been one to sleep well when there’s a lot on his mind and when there’s stress surrounding the team. He’s... not sure how he knows that, but as soon as he thinks it, he knows it’s true. Keith has always been this way.

But this is different. And he knows it’s different.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He hedges, carefully, warily.

Keith looks away, eyes out the window, like it’s safer when they’re not making eye contact. Lance can’t blame him. “No,” He says, but it’s unconvincing.

“What did you see?” He asks, half for Keith and half for himself. His curiosity is a living thing, writhing and clawing inside, consuming. Keith tenses, whole body straightening and going still. He looks tense as a bow string, ready to snap. A wild animal, poised and ready to flee. Lance pushes on quickly. “You don’t have to tell me exactly.” He says, holding up both hands, a gesture that’s both defensive and meant to be calming. “I know the whole _no spoilers_ thing, but... I think you should talk about it. The others say you haven’t said anything to them, and they’re all worried about you— _I’m_ worried about you. Just... maybe talking about it will make you feel better?”

For a full five seconds, Lance doesn’t think it’ll work. He counts them, slow and agonizing, as he watches the tick in Keith’s jaw, the tightness around his eyes, the calculating look in his gaze as he glares at the stars.

Then, finally, slowly, he sighs, and his entire body deflates with it. His shoulders sag, hunching in on himself. He looks small, and Lance hates it. Wants to comfort him, but isn’t sure how to do it.

He’s moving before he really realizes it, scooting across the alcove and crossing the short distance between them. Keith watches him warily, tense but no longer looking like he might bolt at any moment. “What’re you doing?” He asks, curious but cautious.

Lance rolls his eyes, settling in beside him with his legs crossed, blanket still draped over his shoulders. “I’m helping. Come on. Scoot.” He says, swatting at Keith’s arm. He looks hilariously disgruntled and offended, and at first Lance isn’t sure he’s going to listen, but then he starts to move, slowly allowing Lance’s prodding and pulling hands to maneuver him away from the wall.

He settles Keith in front of him, facing the window and back to Lance. He scoots forward until his knees are just barely bracketing in his hips and reaches up. His fingers just barely brush against Keith’s hair before he flinches, ducking his head and whipping around to gape at him.

“What’re you doing?” He asks so quickly that it seems automatic, a pout on his lips.

Lance just gives him a flat look, hands still hovering in the air. “I’m going to play with your hair because it’s soothing, and you’re going to talk to me so you feel better, and then hopefully we can both sleep.” He says with all the unwavering authority that he’s picked up through years of babysitting. Keith hesitates, worry pinching his expression. Lance’s face softens. “Is that okay?” He asks, because he’s suddenly uncertain whether or not he’s crossed a line. He’s a tactile person, but maybe this is too much for Keith?

But Keith just sighs, turning but not before Lance sees the barest of smiles. “It’s fine.” He says begrudgingly, and Lance doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s pouting.

Smiling a little in his victory, he lets his fingers dive into that familiar mop of hair. It’s thicker than he expected, and not nearly as tangled as he was anticipating. As he runs his fingers through the strands, they separate and fall away, slipping through his fingers like dark silk. It’s definitely longer than his Keith’s hair, falling easily to his shoulders, a little layered but far more uniform in length. It waves here and there, curling at the edges.

“Holy shit, how the fuck is your hair so _soft_.” He mutters because it’s just not _fair_. As far as he’s aware, Keith does no kind of upkeep for his hair, and yeah it’s a little greasy, but it’s not nearly as bad as he anticipated.

Keith only hums, pleased and content, and Lance can feel it beneath his fingertips.

He’s not sure how long they sit like that, seconds ticking away into nothingness, the dim lights of the hallway unchanging, castle still and silent. It’s like they’re stowed away in their own little pocket of space, secret and alone, where nothing and no one can touch them, let alone time. A liminal space between everything.

He runs his fingers through Keith’s hair, again and again. Digging in deep and scratching at his scalp. Keith relaxes into it, head tilting back, shoulders slumping, weight leaning back until his hips are pressed to Lance’s knees. Lance enjoys the repetitive motions, the softness of his hair like a waterfall between his fingers. It’s grounding and comforting.

When Keith speaks, it’s soft. His voice doesn’t break through the silence, merely skims along the surface of it. It’s tired and defeated, resigned and weary. “I saw a lot of things,” He starts, taking a shuddering breath that Lance can feel. His ministrations slow, soothing and calm. “It was... this one mission. Maybe six months ago? I’m not sure. Time feels different in space. The mission... didn’t go well. In the end, we won, and we all got out alive, but... barely...”

Keith trails off, voice devolving to nothing, and Lance finds himself holding his breath. He wants to push, to prod, to ask questions, but he doesn’t. He just keeps his fingers moving, silently encouraging Keith to continue. After several deep breaths, a steeling of his shoulders, he does.

“You... you nearly died.” He breathes, so soft, fearful, like saying it louder might break the safety of their little alcove. Then, stronger. “I saw it. Again. And it was so _real_. It didn’t feel like a memory. It felt like I was _there_. Like you were there. Like the blood... like it was happening all over again.” He shudders, but it doesn’t stop, and it takes Lance a moment to realize that he’s shaking.

Without really thinking about it, his hands leave Keith’s hair, arms wrapping around his shoulders, pressing up against his back in a tight hug. Keith stiffens at first, but then relaxes back against him. He feels a hand on his forearm, fingers tight but shaking.

“And then it happened again,” He says, voice small and so incredibly exhausted. Resigned. It tore at Lance’s heart. “And again. But it happened differently. Every time, the mission went differently. Small differences, big differences, didn’t matter. I saw it all— _Lived_ , it all. Somewhere in my head, I _knew_ it wasn’t real. I _knew_ what was happening, but... it just— it felt— it felt so _real_.” His voice cracks, and he stops, and Lance knows when someone is fighting off tears.

He squeezes tighter, humming softly as he hooks his chin over Keith’s shoulder. He scoots a little more forward, caging Keith in as best he can. He knows it’s not much, but he hopes it’s enough.

“I know none of it was real, but...” He continues, voice strained. “I remember everything, all of it, all the things that might have happened. Every time I close my eyes, I see everyone dying. Shiro, Allura, Hunk, Pidge, me. Even Coran dies in a couple of them. But... most of the time, it’s you who dies. You die, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I can’t— There’s nothing—“

“Shhh, shhh, hey, calm down, buddy, it’s okay.” Lance says, hushing him softly as he lifts a hand to weave fingers through his hair again.

Keith quiets, but his breaths are still heavy and wet. Lance leans his head against Keith’s. Keith’s fingertips tap lightly against his forearm. There’s a pattern to it, but he can’t quite figure it out.

“I’m here.” He says, soft and mumbling, hand never stilling as his fingers run through Keith’s hair. “I’m here. I’m alive. Other me is alive, too, kickin’ it in the past. Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real. It didn’t happen that way.”

“But it _could_ have—“

“But it didn’t, did it?”

“... No.”

“I didn’t die, did I?”

“No.”

“I’m alive, and you probably saved my ass, didn’t you?”

“I... Yeah, I helped—“

“Thanks for having my back, Keith.” He says, and Keith stills, but it’s not tense or rigid. It’s... calm. His fingers stop tapping, and his body stops shaking. “You gotta stop letting this guilt mess with you. None of it happened, so you have no reason to feel guilty. I’m alive. You’re alive. Everyone is alive. And we don’t plan on dying anytime soon. So just... relax, okay?”

He lets out a shuddering sigh, body slumping in defeat. “Okay,” He mutters, and Lance knows he means it. His hand gives Lance’s forearm a light squeeze. “Thanks, Lance.”

He feels a smile at his lips. “No problem, dude.”

While the atmosphere in their little alcove feels better, less thick and far more at ease, Lance doesn’t feel like it’s enough. He knows as soon as they leave here, Keith is going to be haunted again. Words are all nice and dandy, but he knows this is something that runs deeper. He can’t stitch this wound with words alone. And he knows that it’s not just Keith. As soon as Lance leaves here, he’ll end up in his bed, staring at the ceiling as thoughts of his eventual near death experience swirl in his head.

Knowing he’s going to survive is only a small comfort when he realizes that he’s... he’s going to almost...

He sighs, loud and defeated and probably a little more dramatic than the situation calls for. He unwraps himself from Keith, pushing himself to his feet suddenly and with enough force that it leaves Keith catching himself before he falls backwards. He gazes up at him, eyes wide with surprise and pinched in confusion. Lips parted.

Lance can see the glassiness of his eyes, the wet tracks that run down his face, the redness surrounding his eyes and puffing up his cheeks. He hates it. Hates seeing Keith like this. Keith is the red paladin. He’s fiery, determined, strong, and unwavering. He’s _Keith_. Star child of the garrison, amazing pilot, confident and never once questioning himself. But here, right now, he’s just... _Keith_. Small and vulnerable, drowning in Lance’s jacket with tear stains on his cheeks, eyes haunted and glistening.

Lance holds out his hand. “Come on.”

Keith blinks up at him, looking from his hand to his face. “What?”

He jerks his head to gesture down the hallway. “Come on. You’re sleeping in my room.” Keith blanches, mouth gaping and eyes wide. Lance sighs, shoulders sagging. “Don’t make it weird, okay? Neither of us are sleeping very well on our own, and I’m a great cuddler. My niece and nephew come to me all the time.” He lets a smirk curve his lips, cocking his head to the side, lifting his chin. “They call me Lance, Nightmare’s Bane.” He says proudly.

At that, Keith’s surprise recedes, the ghost of a smile quirking his lips, eyes dancing with amusement rather than tears. “I thought they called you Nightmare NomNom.”

Lance gapes, confidence falling as a strangled, indignant sound escapes his throat. He pulls his hand back, putting it to his chest. “How did you— _How do you know that?_ ”

Keith smirks, cheeks lifting with it, eyes crinkling. “You told me.”

He pulls the blanket firmly over his shoulders in a huff, looking away. “Future me is a traitor,” He grumbles. “Nightmare’s Bane sounds cooler...” Keith chuckles, and Lance can’t find it in himself to be too upset. He sighs, holding out his hand again, an olive branch. “So... you coming or not?”

Keith stares at it, far too many emotions passing over his expression far too quickly for Lance to figure them out. When he lifts his eyes, they’re kind and grateful, smile small and genuine. “Yeah,” He breathes, taking Lance’s hand. Fingers curling with Lance’s without hesitation and with an odd sense of familiarity.

It makes something warm and rosy rise within Lance’s ribcage, speaking out to his limbs. Pulse quickening as heat rises up his neck.

“Yeah, I...” Hair falling in front of Keith’s eyes, crinkled at the edges, smile almost shy as it is gentle. He breathes his next words, like he almost fears saying them but can’t hold them back. “I’d love that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["Ghost of the Future"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/21934646)  
> [My Tumblr](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Bo's Main Tumblr](http://www.zizzani.tumblr.com), [Bo's Art Tumblr](http://dreamwips.tumblr.com/),   
>  and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/anna_bohac)  
> 


	6. To Sender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge and Hunk finally figure out how to send a message to the past, and the budding realization that maybe Keith isn't as bad as Lance originally thought is overshadowed by some troubling news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Welcome to our favorite pair of chapters to date. We've been looking forward to these ones for a while.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for being patient with us. Bo and I are both very busy, but these fics will never be abandoned. Thanks everyone for your encouragement and comments! We appreciate you guys a lot. These chapters have a lot happening, and are the longest chapters so far. You'll find scenes that are mirrors of previous ones from the opposite fic, as well as some back and forth between the chapters themselves.
> 
> There's some Spanish in this chapter (translations done by the very kind and sweet [Ami!](http://www.hihereami.tumblr.com) Who has also worked with Bo on some of her other fics), and you can find the link to the English translation in the end notes.
> 
> If you haven't already, don't forget to check out chapter six of [Ghost of the Future](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/28624512) when you're done! Happy reading!

He wakes all at once.

Not with a start, nor with surprise.

One moment he’s simply unconscious, and the next, he’s awake. Left blinking and disoriented as he stares at the ceiling, mind desperately reeling as it tries to catch up. He squints against the light in his room, still dimmed for the comfort of sleep, but bright enough to let him know that it’s morning. By the ship’s standards, anyway.

He doesn’t know what woke him. One moment he was asleep, drifting aimlessly in a dreamless slumber, and the next, he’s awake, disoriented and confused.

There are no alarms blaring. There aren’t any sounds from the hallway. By all rights, the castle is peaceful and quiet. He’s just... awake. His body only does that when he’s been fully rested, waking without preamble to start the day.

But that’s impossible. He hasn’t slept well since being time blasted to the future.

Last night he couldn’t sleep either. He knows that for a fact. Knows it because that’s what every night has been like for days.

It drifts back to him slowly as his mind struggles to emerge from the fog, shaking off the remnants of sleep, gradual and steady, like a tide creeping up the beach in waves. And as each wave crashes, he remembers a little more.

 _He couldn’t sleep_.

He blinks.

_He left his room to visit his alcove, restlessness itching beneath his skin._

His eyes finally adjust to the lighting, no longer burning but no less irritated.

 _Keith had been there_.

His body feels heavy and sluggish with sleep. Too much so to move. His chest feels tight, deep breaths more difficult to take in than he anticipated.

_They talked. Keith had cried while Lance held him. Lance had invited him back to his room—_

He freezes, body stiffening and breath catching in his throat. In the newfound silence, he hears another’s breathing. Slow breaths. Soft at first, but growing louder as he focuses on them. A near silent inhale, whistling just barely, and then a gentle sigh of an exhale, puffing past parted lips.

Steady. In and out. In and out.

Lance can hear it as well as feel it. A rise and fall against his own chest and side, pushing softly against him with every inhale, and relaxing away with every exhale.

Lance’s own lungs burn, forcing him to take in a deep breath, letting it out in a shuddering exhale that hisses past his teeth.

Then his mind is reeling again, but for entirely different reasons.

_Because Keith is fucking sleeping on his chest._

No. That’s _way_ too simple.

He’s pressed up against his side beneath the blankets, entire length of him molded perfectly to Lance’s. One leg is slung over one of Lance’s, curling slightly to pull it toward him, thigh over thigh, bent knee touching his other leg. He’s leaning over so most of his chest is against Lance’s chest. One arm resting innocently across his waist while the other curls up, wedged between them.

His head rests on Lance’s shoulder, tucked up under his chin, loose hair falling like silk to tickle at Lance’s neck and chin. Keith’s breaths are soft puffs against his collarbone and _oh god he’s going to die_.

His body is on _fire_ where ever they touch, all too aware of the weight on him, the heat from Keith’s body, the small movements he makes in sleep.

_Oh god. Oh god. Oh god._

He doesn’t know what to do, body all frozen up and stiff as a board. One of his own arms is wrapped loosely around Keith’s shoulders, and he can’t quite bring himself to move it. Can’t bring himself to do much of _anything_. He can barely think, let alone move.

There’s a distant ringing in his ears as blood races through his system, adrenaline fraying his nerves with fight or flight, skin itching and crawling, muscles twitching with the effort of staying still.

His mind and body are reeling, disjointed, chaotic. Can’t think. Can’t move. So he does the only thing he _can_ think to do. He listens to Keith’s breathing. Feels for it. And matching his own up to it, hoping the steadiness will calm him down.

Steady. In and out. In and out.

He forces his body to relax. One muscle at a time. It’s methodical, and almost soothing, feeling each limb, each section of his body relax and slump back into the bed, beneath Keith’s weight, one by one.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t do much for his poor heart. It hammers painfully against his ribcage, loud enough that he’s not sure how the _fuck_ Keith is sleeping through it.

Or maybe he can’t.

Because suddenly Keith is moving, and just as he was finally starting to relax, he’s stiff again.

Oh fuck. Oh shit. What if Keith wakes up and sees them like this and panics? Fuck, Lance knows _he_ would. He can’t imagine it would be much different for Keith. And he’s already panicking, so how the hell is he supposed to deal with Keith panicking too?

So he braces himself, biting at his bottom lip, waiting for the inevitable stiffening of the body next to him, of the gasp, of the confused, panicked eyes...

But it never comes.

Instead Keith is... _snuggling?_

He shifts his weight around, body curling into him before relaxing once again. His legs tangle with Lance’s a little more. The hand around his waist tightens before loosening, fingers stretching before finding a patch of exposed skin along his hip bone. He feels goosebumps rise and a shudder run down his spine as Keith begins to idly trace patterns along that exposed strip, beneath the blankets.

His lips smack almost soundlessly, and he hums lightly as his face buries deeper, nuzzling his nose roughly into Lance’s chest before he shifts again—

And then he’s shifting more firmly on top of him, body half sprawled out across Lance’s chest, chin tilting as he nuzzles his face into the crook of Lance’s neck and— oh god, he’s in trouble.

He’s in trouble and he’s panicking all over again because _fuck_ — this is adorable. And Jesus fucking _Christ_ , he can’t even bring himself to be mad or upset or uncomfortable about the whole thing because... because it’s really not uncomfortable at all?

Keith is warm and comfortable and snuggling into him in all these small ways that Lance has never experienced before. It’s so... familiar. Like he knows exactly how to fit himself for maximum comfort. And it’s really not anything he ever expected from Keith.

Not Keith, with the grumpy pouts. Keith with the stern looks. Keith, with the perma-scowl. Keith with the snappy come backs. Keith, who fought with him. Keith, who kicked galra ass on the daily. Keith, who would honestly own him in a fight any day of the week, but you wouldn’t hear that from Lance.

Keith, who was all hard edges and serious looks and hard, certain movements.

Keith, who’s face was lax in sleep, lips parted and eyelashes caressing his pale skin. Keith, who’s foot idly brushed up and down Lances leg. Keith, who’s fingers toyed with his hip bone. Keith, who’s breath was light and even against the exposed column of his neck.

Ooooooh, no.

Ooooooh, no no no.

Nooooooo. Nope.

Nu-uh.

No way.

No, sir.

Nope. No, no, no.

Lance is _not_ having this.

It’s too fucking cute. Too fucking _soft_. Too fucking _different_ from the Keith he’s used to. Still... this _isn’t_ the Keith he’s used to. This is an older Keith. One that smiles. One that jokes around with him. One that knows his habits. One that teases, but doesn’t jab. One that gives him these _looks_ , filled with an odd cacophony of familiarity, fondness, and a deep seeded sorrow. One that still seems just as lonely, but much better about opening up.

His mind is chaos, nerves fraying at the edges, sparking and unraveling, but his body seems to finally figure out what to do.

After a moment of his hands hovering awkwardly, uncertain, he finally lets them fall where they want to naturally, resting gently around Keith’s back.

His reaction is instant. He hums deep in his throat— and Lance can _feel_ that, holy shit— and then nuzzles deeper into Lance’s neck. He breaths in heavily before letting it out in a sigh, breath and lips brushing along Lance’s skin a way that Lance is _far_ too aware of.

Keith continues to shift, small movements as he slowly rouses from sleep, body shifting over Lance’s, and Lance feels every single movement, every touch, and—

Yup, okay, so he’s in trouble for entirely _different_ reasons.

His breath catches in his throat, hissing out in a small whine before he forces deep breaths.

This is natural. This is normal. It’s not weird for him to wake up with a semi. Something about REM sleep and causing that kind of physical reaction. He’s a growing boy. This happens. Often and normally. Nothing to do with Keith. Nothing to do with Keith being far too soft and cute and tactile and— god fucking dammit— _attractive_ in the early morning lighting of his room.

He tries to slowly, subtly, shift his hips away, but Keith isn’t having any of it. He makes this soft— fucking cute— disgruntled noise and locks his leg tighter around Lance’s, shifting more on top of him.

Lance holds his breath, waiting for the realization, the accusations, the freak out. Because there’s no fucking way he doesn’t _notice_ what’s going on down there, not when it’s pressed firmly against his hip.

But... it never comes.

Keith doesn’t seem to notice _at all_.

Jesus, how oblivious can this guy be?

Keith settles back down, and after a moment, Lance relaxes. Takes a moment to just... access the situation. Let it all sink in.

He’s in his bed. Cuddling with Keith. He can’t say he didn’t expect this outcome. After all, he _had_ invited him back here with the intention to keeping both their nightmares at bay. And Lance is a cuddler. So... yeah, he kinda expected _some_ cuddling.

He just hadn’t expected most of it to be coming from _Keith_.

So... yeah. This is happening.

Cool.

_Cooooool._

He feels restless, but he doesn’t want to move too much. Is afraid to, really. But he can’t quite stay still. There’s an itch beneath his skin and a tick in his muscles that he can’t stop. His hands start moving before he really realizes he’s doing it. Gently rubbing up and down Keith’s back. Fingers idly feeling the bumps of his spine through his shirt.

He doesn’t realize he’s doing it until Keith hums again, a pleased sound that reminds him way too much of a cat as he curls just a little, arching just a fraction, making his shirt stretch tight over his back to make scratching it easier.

A smile tugs at the corner of Lance’s lips, and he can’t quite bring himself to stop.

Okay, that’s a lie. He stops once just to hear Keith’s soft disgruntled huff before he chuckles silently, getting back to it.

Cuddling with Keith is... odd, but not unpleasant. His body is hard from all the training, just as Lance imagined it would be— Not that he’s thought about it a lot! But... he’s also soft around the edges. Relaxation making him soft in places that Lance never expected. Makes Keith fit up against him like a jagged little puzzle piece. Snapping firmly but gently into place.

He doesn’t know how long they lay there like that, but... he doesn’t mind. It’s oddly comfortable, once he lets himself relax into it. He... well, if he’s being honest, he kind of likes it. And when Keith finally stirs, finally reaches up to rub at his eyes and props himself up on an elbow to lift his head, Lance doesn’t feel panic or relief. He feels... distantly disappointed.

But he’s not going to dwell on that. His hands slip down to Keith’s lower back as he props himself up, tilts his head to the side, and let his lips curve into an amused, lopsided smirk. “Morning.” He says, voice soft and low, like speaking louder might break the peace of the moment. After all, he really doesn’t want to startle Keith.

Keith drops his hand then, lets it rest on Lance’s chest as he turns to look at him, eyes lidded and drowsy, smile small and lazy as it stretches his lips. “Morning,” And, wow, okay. His voice is all low and husky from sleep, and it sends a shiver right through him cause damn, he didn’t expect to like that so much.

They just stare at each other for a moment. A moment that doesn’t feel awkward or strained. Just... peaceful. Content. Soft in the dim lighting of the morning. A moment of stillness in the midst of all the hectic tension that’s been filling the castle lately.

It’s... nice.

“Never really took you for much of a cuddler.” He says, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Confusion seems to color his features for a moment, brows furrowing, smile fading as his lips purse, eyes searching Lance’s, slides to his cheek— and then Keith freezes. His eyes widen, lips falling open as he jerks away from him a fraction, enough that Lance realizes he had been leaning in. He hadn’t even noticed.

Then Keith is looking down at them, at their precarious position, shifts away slightly. His eyes are back on Lance’s, panic swirling in those dark depths, color staining his cheeks red.

But Lance cuts it off before it can truly manifest. “Dude, calm down,” He says gently, patting Keith’s back. “What’s a little cuddlefest between friends, right?” He chuckles, feeling some of the tension dissolve around them, feeling Keith relax a little against him as he does so.

“Right...” He says softly, disgruntled, not at all as lighthearted as Lance but at least it’s not filled with panic.

“Geez, dude, who knew you could be so blushy?”

And at that, Keith’s familiar scowl is back, brows furrowed, lips pursed in a small frown. “I’m not blushy.”

Lance chuckles, reaching up to press a fingertip to Keith’s nose, snorting as he goes cross-eyed to look at it, glare still in place. “The red cheeks say otherwise.”

Then Keith’s eyes slide to his, and there’s an odd mix of emotion there. He’s still not used to seeing this kind of emotion from Keith. Or maybe... he’s just getting used to reading it? Either way there’s a sadness there, a fondness, something heartbreaking and chaotic when he looks at Lance, flipping between warm and cold and—

“I’ve gotta pee!” He announces, voice a little too loud and a little too abrupt. He ignores the way Keith winces at the volume as he wiggles out from beneath Keith, slipping out of the bed, of their warm little pocket of space.

The floor is cold against his feet, air chilly against his overheated skin, but it’s welcome. Helps him clear his head. Helps ground him. He stretches, letting out a satisfied hum as his back cracks, and shuffles quickly to the bathroom without looking back.

There’s a weird hollow feeling in his stomach, a tightness in his chest, odd sensations tugging at his heart, but at least now he can properly breathe.

By the time he’s used the bathroom, splashed some cold water on his face, and started poking around at the numerous bottles and containers on his counter as a way to put off facing Keith again, there’s a knock at the door.

“Lance?” It’s hesitant, soft, uncertain.

Lance stiffens for only a moment before forcing himself to relax. He slaps on a smile and hits the button to let the bathroom door slide open. Keith stands there, looking strangely uncomfortable in his own skin. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he won’t quite meet Lance’s eyes. Lips pursed, a shade of pink still evident on his cheeks, the soft Keith that he had known just moments ago has already retreated behind a harder exterior that Lance is much more familiar with.

He’s not sure what to say, so he simply raises his eyebrows in silent question.

Keith shifts his weight. “I just... wanted let you know that I’m going to... leave, now. And, uh... thanks, for—“ He waves a hand around vaguely, frown deepening. “Everything. I... actually got to sleep last night, so... thanks for that.”

Lance smiles, soft and genuine, feels it soften his features despite his desire to keep things light and teasing. “Yeah, no problem, dude. I actually got some sleep, too, so... yeah, it was nice.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, voice distant and soft, smile only evident in the softening of his frown. “It was.”

Silence stretches for a moment, then two. They stand there, neither quite sure what to do or say. Despite the fact that Keith said he was going to leave, he hasn’t budged, and Lance doesn’t really want to kick him out.

So instead he takes a step back, gesturing to the bathroom counter. “So, uh, random question about the future. Do you know what _any_ of this stuff actually _does_? I know it has to be here for a reason, but I can’t for the life of me figure it out, and my skin is _suffering_.” He slaps two hands against his cheeks, dragging the skin down as he leans forward to look at himself in the mirror. “I mean, the least future me could have done was leave a step-by-step guide to proper skin care with alien products.”

Keith huffs a short laugh, and Lance can see him shaking his head in the mirror. His hair is... honestly a mess. And where Lance’s own hair looks like a bird’s nest, Keith’s looks... well, it’s honestly not even fair how casually he wears his messy bedhead.

Keith steps into the bathroom, casually shoving him aside. He stumbles a couple steps, huffing a disgruntled, “ _Rude,_ ” But it only has the small ghost of a smile tugging at Keith’s lips, and Lance can’t bring himself to be too mad.

Keith hums softly to himself, hands resting on the edge of the counter as his eyes roam over the wide array of alien containers. His fingers idly tap out a pattern on the countertop, brows creasing in thought.

Then he nods once, as if confirming something in his mind, and his hands are moving. Quick and concise. There’s no hesitation as he grabs bottles and containers, moving them and pushing them into three distinct groups. When he’s done, he points at one of them.

“These are for your morning routine.” He points at another. “These are your night routine.” He gestures to the third. “And these are circumstantial.” Then he’s back at the first group, poking a bottle with a finger, tipping it back and forth without actually knocking it over. “This is your favorite face wash. I don’t know what it’s made out of, but you’ve said that you like how it makes your skin feel tingly? I don’t know what that means, but you like it. That’s why it’s nearly gone. I’ll have to pick you up some more...” He mumbles the last bit as an after thought before pointing at a few other bottles. “You have a few others though, and sometimes you use different ones on different days. These ones are facial scrubs? They hurt, and I don’t know why you like using them, but you say it makes your skin softer, and, well.. it does, so...” He clears his throat, tapping his fingers along a few others. “These are moisturizers. Some of them smell weird and look weird, but, you know, aliens. You say that you hate the consistency of this one, but you like how it feels, but you really only use it about once a week.”

He trails off as he lifts his gaze, meeting Lance’s eyes in the mirror. Lance is openly gaping at him. Surprise clearly written across his features. He knows it, but he can’t bring himself to hide it, because honestly, what the fuck?

Keith’s reaction is instant. He shifts slightly away from the counter, visibly pulling into himself, brows pinching and lips pursing. The soft expression that had been overtaking his features while he had been rambling fades instantly, hidden and locked away.

“What?” He asks, defensive, sharp, challenging.

Lance shakes his head, forcing his mouth to close. He feels his lips tug up into a small smile, barely there save for how it crinkles at his eyes. “Nothing, just... how do you _know_ all this?”

Keith shrugs, looking away as he mumbles. “You’ve told me about it. A lot.”

Lance’s lips tug up into a smirk, arms crossing over his chest as he leans a hip against the counter. “Well at least future me did something right.” He gestures to the other groups that Keith had split the containers into. “Well, go ahead, teach me the ways of skincare, young padawan. Make future me proud.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but that small, barely there smile is back, and Lance counts that as a win.

He goes through the rest of future Lance’s usual skincare routine, and Lance listens intently, because honestly, his skin needs it, and it’s a huge relief to have all this weird shit explained to him so he doesn’t fuck up his face.

And if Keith gets a little soft in the eyes, lips quirking and voice going fond and amused at whatever memories spark while he explains everything... well, Lance notices, but he doesn’t say anything. Just kinda files that look away.

When he’s done, and they exchange awkward goodbyes followed up by shy smiles, Keith is already at the door before Lance thinks of something.

“Wait, Keith! Hold up!” He says, darting out of the bathroom and ignoring the sound of the bottle he had been holding crashing to the floor. He grabs his jacket from where it had been discarded the night before and stops in front of Keith, holding it out.

Keith just stares at it, face blank with confusion as he blinks, eyes sliding up to meet Lance’s, one eyebrow cocked in question.

“Keep it,” He says, small smile toying at his lips, hiding the nerves he feels. Is this weird? It feels weird. But... “You said... it was comfortable, yeah? And if it makes you feel better about future me not being here and the whole memory of me nearly dying, then... you should keep it. For now. I mean, future me will probably want it back when he gets here, but for now, you can keep it. If you want? You don’t have to if you don’t want to—“

“Thanks, Lance.” Keith says, voice all gentle and light, amusement toying at the edges as he smiles at him, and just like that, his rambling is cut short, nerves released to flutter around his stomach like butterflies. Keith takes the jacket from him, the gesture oddly gentle. “Thanks,” He repeats, holding it to his chest and looking up at Lance through his lashes, smile small and shy.

“Y-yeah,” He says, nearly biting his cheek as he stutters. Jesus, what is _wrong_ with him? “No problem, man. Anytime.” He laughs it off, and hates how awkward it sounds. He rocks back on his heels, hands slapping aimlessly against his thighs.

Keith, thank fuck, doesn’t seem to notice. Just keeps standing there, smiling that secret little smile that makes Lance feel like he knows a lot more than he’s willing to admit. Which... he probably does. Being from the future and all.

Keith glances away for a moment, expression contorting just a fraction as he thinks. He sees the moment a decision is made. Sees it in the way he relaxes. Sees it in the way his shoulders lose their tension. Sees it in the determined tilt to his lips and spark in his eyes, firmed with decision. “I’m going to the training deck.”

“O... kay?” Lance says, confusion clear in his voice because really? Doesn’t Keith like... live there? This isn’t exactly a surprise.

“You could join me, if you wanted to?”

“Me?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “No, the other blue paladin I’m talking to.”

“Okay, Mr. Sassy Pants, tone it down.”

Keith shrugs, shifting his weight, posture slumping into something more confident, more cocky, something... more _Lance_ , honestly. “I’m just curious how your fighting is at your point in time.”

“Uh, awesome? As always?”

Keith hums, lifting his chin. “Mhmm, sure.”

“You doubting me, mullet?”

Keith holds up a finger. “One, not a mullet.” He puts up a second finger. “Two, yes, I am. You’ve proven that you can fly Blue, but I have yet to see you actually fight. I wanna see if you can keep up.”

Lance takes a step forward, jabbing a finger into Keith’s chest. Keith, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch. “Oh, it is _on_. You’re about to get a blast from the past, hot shot. I’ll run _circles_ around you.”

Then Keith’s lips quirk up into the smallest of smirks, small but deadly. It sends shivers down his spine. “Looks like you’ll have to prove it.”

“Looks like it.”

“So see you at the training deck?”

“Wouldn’t miss a chance to wipe the floor with you.”

His smirk threatens a grin, a glint in his eyes as dangerous as his smile. “See you there.”

And then he’s gone, the door shut in Lance’s face, and he’s left standing there, feeling for all the world like he just got played.

He can’t bring himself to care.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It takes him a while to actually get to the training deck, mostly because he takes his sweet time thoroughly going through the morning routine that Keith outlined for him. And sure, he’s probably going to have to do some of it all over again after training, but at least now he feels marginally more human.

It also takes him a little longer than necessary because he’d been hit by a dizzy spell mid-routine, and had to sit down until it passed.

It was weird, unfounded, and he can still feel the after effects in his limbs, a fuzzy tingling that’s distinct but distant. It sits in his bones like a weariness, making everything feel heavier, making him feel sluggish. But it’s slight. Just enough that he knows it’s _wrong_ , but not enough to really be an issue.

His stomach is also unsettled, but it feels almost like he’s just hungry. But not quite? Like when he goes too long without eating and it just hurts instead. Kind of. Not really? Who knows.

Either way, he’s got a training deck to get to and a red paladin’s ass to kick.

Not that he really thinks he _can_ kick Keith’s ass, but, you know, he’s sure he can pull of _something_ impressive.

When he gets to the training deck, he can already hear the clang of metal on metal, and a small smirk tugs at his lips because really, that’s just classic Keith.

Then the door slides open with a muffled _whoosh_ , and Lance’s smirk promptly drops.

Keith is there, bayard in hand, one of the training bots dissolving in pixels around the blade. There’s no pause before he’s spinning, sword already moving before he’s even facing the other two bots. His bayard shrinks with a flash of light, dissolving and running along his arm, across his chest, forming in his other hand just in time to stab through another bot’s chest.

And holy _shit_ , Lance didn’t even know they could _do_ that!

Keith is still moving, body never slowing as one movement slides into the next. It’s graceful really. Deadly and beautiful. The way his body moves like silk, twisting and spinning, ducking and jumping, sword acting as an extension of his arm. He barely pays attention to it, like he doesn’t even have to think about where it’ll be or where it’ll end up. It’s just part of him. Completely at his control.

And then the third bot dissipates before Lance can really comprehend _how_ Keith disposes of it, and he’s just left there gaping, slack jawed in the doorway, eyes blown wide.

“End training level nine,” Keith says, voice loud and clear in the sudden silence.

He straightens, bayard deactivating, and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, and— he’s not wearing his armor.

Lance isn’t sure _what_ he’s wearing. It’s some kind of skin tight body suit, with what looks to be plates of armor in various places to protect vitals, molded close and form fitting, allowing for easy movement. It’s in all dark, muted shades, with a few glowing accents on his chest. A hood hangs loosely behind the back of his neck, across his shoulders.

It... it looks good. _He_ looks good. It definitely fits him. Very well. Very tightly. In all the right places. It even suits his aesthetic, and Lance can’t say that he minds.

Then Keith takes a step backwards, turning his body as he glances over at him, and his hair is pulled into a quick, messy bun, strands falling loose here and there, and his lips curl up into a smirk that’s two parts cocky, one part knowing, and a hundred percent confident.

And that _does_ things to Lance’s insides.

Makes his stomach flip in ways that aren’t wholly unpleasant. Makes heat rise up his neck that he fights desperately to keep down.

“Took you long enough.”

Lance snaps his mouth shut, waving Keith off with wide hand gestures that’ll hopefully keep him from looking too closely at the blush he feels creeping up his face. “Perfection like this takes time. Not that I’d expect you to know much about that.”

Because he’s certain that Keith puts absolutely _no_ effort into his physical appearance, and yet he ends up looking like _that_. Honestly, how is that fair?

Keith rolls his eyes, but his smirk remains fixed in place.

“Sooo...” Lance says, doing his best to appear casual as he saunters further into the training deck. “Where’d you get _that_ get up?” He asks, gesturing to Keith’s suit and making a show of stepping around him to get a better look. At the suit, that is. Definitely the suit.

“Oh, uh,” Keith says, confidence wavering as he looks down at himself. When he looks back up, his face is carefully blank, if not slightly apologetic as he shrugs, a small smile on his lips. “Spoilers? I figured since you didn’t have your paladin armor, I shouldn’t either.” He says, offhandedly gesturing to Lance.

He’d chosen to wear the Altean body suit they’d given him for their mission to Achore. Which had everything to do with it being practical, and nothing to do with how he feels awesome in it. Or how Keith has a tendency to stare when he wears it.

“Right,” Lance says, giving him a flat look. Then he sighs and steps back, hands going to his hips, making a show of nonchalance as he looks around the room. “So how’re we doing this? I don’t have my bayard, but we can probably find one of those Altean rifles—“

“I was thinking some hand-to-hand sparring.”

Lance blinks, gaze sliding over to Keith. He cocks an eyebrow. “Sparring?”

“Yup,” He says, tossing his bayard aside and rolling his shoulders.

“That’s... not really my strong suit.” He tries, confidence wavering.

“That’s why it’s called training.” He says simply, stretching his arms high above his head. “Besides, you’ve always been a good shot. I want to see how far along in your hand-to-hand training you are."

“Oh,” He says weakly, blinking in surprise. Was that... a compliment? He shakes himself, slapping on a smirk and lifting his chin just a fraction. “So you just wanna see some of my sweet moves, huh?” He says, all confidence and bravado, as if they don’t both know Keith can kick his ass to hell and back any day. He makes a show of flexing, grinning as he sends a wink Keith’s way.

He’s expecting the eye roll. What he’s not expecting is the small smile or the snort of laughter. “Yeah, sure.” His hands drop to his sides, and he tilts his head, smile still in place as he asks, “Do you need to warm-up?”

He’s certain no amount of warming up will prepare him for this. So instead he rolls his shoulders, drops down into the mimicry of a fighting stance, once that he’s seen Keith and Shiro do a million times. Knees bent, weight low, arms up, hands curled into loose fists. “Nah, son, I was born ready.” He says, flashing Keith a grin that has far more confidence than he feels. “Let’s do this.”

Keith shrugs again, “Whatever you say,” And then drops fluidly into his own stance.

They stand there for a moment, silence settling into the room. Lance watches him, wary and on edge. His entire body is tense, coiled, energy barely contained as he waits for Keith’s attack—

But it never comes.

Which leaves Lance feeling confused and off kilter, energy buzzing in his limbs without a place to go, overcompensated tension leaving him strangely off balance. Keith always charges. That’s what Keith _does_. When it comes to a fight, he’s more antsy and impatient than Lance is. Quick to jump the gun. Hot head. Rash and impulsive. Quick to start, quick to end. That’s how Keith does it.

At least... that’s how _his_ Keith does it.

“Well?” Keith says, lips twitching with the ghost of a smile, the only crack to his otherwise calm demeanor. Despite being in a defensive stance, he’s completely at ease, expression blank and body relaxed. “I’m waiting.”

The teasing isn’t something Lance is expecting. That’s not really Keith’s game. It’s _his_. But fine. If that’s the way he wants to play. “Age before beauty.” He says, flashing a bright grin, cocking his head to the side, and sending Keith a small wink.

He expects a frown. A scowl. A roll of the eyes. A furrowed brow. A huff. _Anything_. Instead he gets a dangerous glint in those dark eyes, a widening of his smile as he says, “If you insist.” And then Keith is charging toward him.

He’s fast. A _lot_ faster than Lance remembers. Like shooting at him like a fucking bullet fast. And his eyes snap to Keith’s right side, waiting for the hit he knows will come, but his hand remains at his side, and there’s a flash of movement on the left and _holy fucking shit_ —

Lance yelps. It’s loud and high pitched and panicked as he legs his feet drop from under him, ducking in the most ungraceful way as he lets his body collapse to the floor in an attempt to avoid the fist that comes for him.

Then he’s left lying on his back, wind knocked out of him, slightly dazed, as he stares up at the fist frozen right where his face had been. Keith blinks, body still as he realizes that Lance is no longer there. He tilts his head down, looking Lance over with an expression that’s far too innocent and far too confused given the situation.

“Uh—“

“ _What the hell was that?_ ” Lance yelps, pushing himself more upright, putting his hands behind him to prop himself up.

Keith slowly straightens, arm lowering to his side. He blinks. “What was what?”

Lance leans forward, arms flailing as he tries to articulate his thoughts. “What was— _that?_ ”

A pinch to Keith’s brows. The small purse of a frown. “Lance, I don’t know what you—“

“You went for the left!”

“Uh... yeah?”

“You always go for the right!”

The frustration in his expression clears, leaving him still confused but carefully blank. Shocked maybe? Surprised? “I... do?”

“Yes!” And he’s not really sure how he knows this, but he _does_. “You always charge at the beginning of a fight, and you always go for the _right_!” He says, indignant and frustrated to hide the flush of his own embarrassment.

Keith’s face remains blank for a moment longer. Then he blinks, and instantly everything seems to soften. There’s no real drastic change. It’s all small and miniscule. But it makes Lance’s heart do these obnoxious little flips. “You’ve actually been paying attention to that? Already?”

Lance pushes himself to his feet, making a show of brushing off his legs before standing up straight, crossing his arms over his chest, and cocking a hip out to the side. “Uh, yeah, duh. It’s kinda hard not to pay attention when you charge face first into every fight, hot head.”

Keith’s small smirk is back. “I’ve learned a few new tricks since then.”

Lance huffs. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Amusement crinkles the edges of his eyes as he steps back, putting more space between them before dropping back down to his stance. “Ready to go again?”

Lance scoffs, rolling his eyes before mirroring Keith’s position. “I was born ready.”

He is not, in fact, ready.

He lasts longer this time, but it isn’t by much. Keith is _fast_. And he knows what he’s doing, while Lance, unfortunately, does not. Hand-to-hand has never been his strong suit. And they haven’t really had much time for him to practice strengthening his weaknesses when he was still trying to strengthen his strengths.

He flails more than fights, doing his best to fend off Keith’s advances while still remaining upright. But Keith keeps coming, and Lance keeps retreating, never once really having an opportunity to switch from the defensive.

And then something shifts. Keith’s onslaught lessens for just a moment, and Lance things he can actually get in a hit of his own. Keith leaves him an opening, and he really should have known it wouldn’t be that simple, but he’s too desperate to get at least one hit in that he takes it anyway.

And the next thing he knows, he’s on his back, staring up at the blinding overhead lights, wind knocked out of him for the second time, and a dull throbbing near his knee.

Then Keith’s face is in his view, loose strands falling from his bun to frame his face, expression open and curious with just an edge of amusement. “You alright?”

“Peachy,” He manages to say, only sounding a little breathless. He sits up slowly, groaning softly as he rubs the back of his head where it must have hit the ground. His other hand goes to his knee, outside of it throbbing with an ache that’s already fading. “Did you... kick me?”

“Uh, yeah,” Keith says, sounding a little sheepish as he crouches down, resting his forearms on his knees. “Sorry, you’re usually better about dodging that one. Or at least recovering quicker.”

Lance glares at him, pout on his lips as he grumbles, “Good to know I get better at this, at least.”

Keith chuckles, soft and low, tilting his head to the side as his eyes grow distant. “Yeah, you do.”

Lance doesn’t know what to do with that look. Those looks that Keith gets a lot when he remembers something. It’s not a look that’s meant for him, and he doesn’t know enough to be able to interpret it. It leaves him feeling hollow and strange and hopeful and—

“It was a cheap shot, and you know it.” He huffs, rubbing his knee though the pain has faded to nothing more than that of an oncoming bruise. It does the trick, though, and snaps Keith out of his reverie.

He frowns, brow pinched, but instead of arguing, he just says, “Yeah, I suppose it was.” Then he’s reaching forward, taking Lance’s knee gently in his hand, held delicately between his fingers. “The side of the knee is a good spot for stopping advancing enemies.” His fingers shift, running along the outside of his knee, brushing along his calf. Even though his Altean battlesuit and Keith’s gloves, the touch is warm. “Soft flesh, tendons, and most importantly,” He trails off, reaching to tap the underside of Lance’s knee. His body jerks instantly, and he yelps before setting his glare on Keith. He only smiles, amusement toying at his lips and a knowing gleam in his eyes. How the hell had Keith _known_ he was ticklish there? But he continues without comment. “It’s a joint, so it can fold, and your enemy can fall.”

“Gee, thanks for the tip, sensei,” He says dryly, knees still pulled close and out of Keith’s reach. “Mind if I practice by knocking you on your ass?”

The glint in Keith’s gaze turns darker, smirk on his lips widening, voice low and playful as he says, “Only if you manage to actually hit me.”

Lance bristles. “Is that a challenge?”

Keith doesn’t say anything. Instead, he stands, holding out a hand for Lance to take before hauling him to his feet.

Thankfully, when Keith invited him to train, he had actually meant training, and not repeatedly-kick-Lance-to-the-floor. He slips up a few times when they really start to get into it, starts to slip back into habits and patterns that Lance is sure that he has with his future self, thanking that Lance will be faster, hit harder, dodge better. He can see the moment Keith realizes his mistake. Sees it in the way his eyes dim for a moment, jaw going slack in his confusion, before his expression tightens again, eyes resigned and apologetic.

And while he _does_ kick Lance’s ass, he’s also actually extremely helpful. Lance had assumed that having Keith poke and prod at his stance and form would grate on his nerves, and it does to some extent, but Keith is patient with him. Lets the jabs slide right off his back, or returns them with a playfulness that Lance isn’t ready for.

He touches Lance here and there, gently moving him into the correct position before backing away. It’s light and fleeting, hesitant and tentative, but firm and certain. He can tell by the way Keith pulls back immediately after correcting him, by the way that he leans in close to demonstrate something before slinking away with a small, sheepish smile, that he’s trying to respect Lance’s personal space.

He gets it, and he appreciates it, especially after this morning. But... it makes something unpleasant squeeze and twist in his chest. Even more so when he catches a glimpse of something deeper in those dark eyes. Something so intensely melancholy that Lance can almost equate it to longing.

Another thing that surprises him is that Keith keeps pulling his hits.

Lance isn’t an idiot. He knows Keith is going easy on him, letting him keep up, letting him get in a few blows of his own. But when Lance trips up, leaves himself open, and Keith takes that opening, he always pulls back before contact is made. On more than one occasion, Lance finds himself face to face with Keith’s fist or elbow, poised right in front of him, stopping abrupt enough to make him flinch and hovering there for a second, as if to cement the memory in his mind, before Keith is pulling away, ghost of a smile on his lips.

He never gloats about it. Doesn’t tease Lance for not seeing it coming. He just tells him how to avoid it in the future. Tells him what he did wrong or how he left himself open without the bite or irritation that Lance is prepared for.

And it... surprisingly doesn’t get on his nerves. Because Keith isn’t making him feel stupid. Keith actually seems to be helping him, and genuinely wants Lance to learn. And that... makes Lance _want_ to learn. Makes him want to be better. Do better. Prove to Keith that he can. Prove that he’s worthy of this attention. Of praise, maybe.

Lance thinks he’s doing a pretty good job. He’s keeping up better, getting some confidence in his movements, earning a few smiles from Keith that are proud and fond and make his stomach flip.

They’re in the middle of a spar when Lance feels it.

Another wave of vertigo.

He feels it coming only a moment before it hits. Feels it well up inside him, something indescribable but twists his insides with the knowledge of _this doesn’t feel right_. It’s a twist in his gut, a rolling of his stomach, a tightness in his chest that leaves the air whooshing out of his lungs. It’s a tingling in the tips of his fingers and a shaking in his knees.

Then his balance is thrown off, vision tilting for just a moment as the dizziness strikes, leaving him disoriented and wobbling.

Lance isn’t expecting it, and Keith sure as hell isn’t either.

So when Keith’s elbow comes flying for his face in a swing that’s far too easy to dodge, a move that Lance has managed to dodge several times now, a move that he no doubt expects Lance to dodge again, he doesn’t pull his blow. He doesn’t stop, and Lance is too dazed to really move himself, and suddenly there’s pain cracking across his jaw, a moment of weightlessness as he falls, and then an ache in his chest as the remaining air rushes from his lungs.

The lights are bright, and the room spins. It takes him a moment to remember how to breathe, and when he does, it takes several moments more for his chest to stop aching. And he’s not entirely sure it has to do with his fall.

The pain in his jaw is barely noticeable, muted and dull as he focuses on the way his insides twist and writhe, the way his bones just don’t feel quite _right_. The way his blood seems to run hot and cold all at once. The way his skin feels too tight.

It reminds him far too much of how he felt when he was transported to the future, but he has a feeling that this has nothing to do with being transported back. And that’s what worries him.

But the sensations fade as quickly as they had come, slinking away and retreating into the fog of memory, leaving him feeling perfectly normal and questioning whether he had felt anything at all.

Unfortunately, the vertigo leaving means that his mind is shoved firmly back into his body. Which means he has some very fresh, very real pains to deal with.

He squeezes his eyes shut, groaning as he props himself up on one hand, other hand going to cradle his throbbing jaw. Jesus, Keith got him good. God _damn_ , that hurt.

“Lance!” The frantic tone of Keith’s voice makes Lance think that this probably isn’t the first time he’s said his name.

“‘M alright,” He mumbles, jaw aching dully as he speaks. He rolls it a few times, making sure it’s all in place. “Holy crow, Keith, that was—“ He opens his eyes, and the words die in his throat because Keith is _right there_.

He’s crouched down on his knees in front of him, one on either side of Lance’s leg and not at all seeming to notice or care how close they are. And boy, they are _close_.

Without hesitation, Keith reaches out for him, firmly pushing Lance’s own hand aside. His touch is surprisingly gentle, turning Lance’s head this way and that with lightly touches as he holds his jaw gingerly in his hands. His eyes are dark and glistening, shades of blue and purple and flecks of every color in between. His lips are pursed lightly, brows pinched in concern as he looks Lance over.

And Lance... well, he’s having a hard time breathing. Because once again, Keith is _right there_. Close enough that he can nearly feel his breath against his cheeks. His touches so gentle and his expression so worried. He really fucking hopes Keith can’t hear the erratic beat of his heart, because it’s deafening to Lance’s own ears.

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, voice soft and small, a breath that drifts across Lance’s jaw, caressing his lips. He holds Lance’s jaw in his hands, like he’s something fragile and precious, looks at him with those distant eyes that he’s learning to love and hate. Then one hand shifts, thumb reaching up to caress his cheek, gloves smooth against his skin and touch light and reverent. It trails from his cheek bone to his jaw, Keith’s gaze following the movement intently.

He see’s Keith slipping back into a dark place. Sees the shadows there that had haunted him last night. Sees the light and carefree Keith slipping away from him like sand through his fingers. Sees him retreating. Lance wants to say something to break the moment, to bring him back, but the breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t like that Keith being this close affects him so much, but it does. And he can’t deny that it does.

But then Keith’s eyes are flickering to his, shadows fading as he seems to pull himself together, tension slowly leaking away as the corners of his lips twitch with the barest of smiles.

“Usually you dodge.” He says, and there’s a teasing note there, almost like a plea, a desperate cry for help at maintaining a normalcy that’ll keep him from falling down into himself again.

Lance latches onto it without a second thought. “How could I possibly dodge that?” He huffs, straightening a little and pressing his lips into a pout as he glares at Keith. His arms shoot up into the air at his sides, flailing vaguely, but he doesn’t pull out of Keith’s grip. “You’re crazy fast and you came at me out of no where!”

Keith’s hands drop away from Lance’s face like he just realized they were still there. They land on his his knees, still crouched awkwardly and half in Lance’s lap. Neither of them say anything about it, and neither move right away. “Instinct,” He says with a small shrug.

Lance scoffs lightly. “I thought _you_ were the instinct guy.”

At that, Keith’s lips quirk a little more, eyes crinkling just a bit at the corners. “I am.” He says easily. “Who do you think taught you?”

Lance blinks, a few fuzzy puzzle pieces sliding into place. “You taught me how to fight?”

Keith nods, and while nothing seems to visibly change about his expression, Keith can see amusement glistening in his eyes. “You weren’t exactly an easy student.”

“Easy on the eyes, though, right?” Lance says, more out of reflex than anything. He tilts his chin down a fraction, waggling his eyebrows.

He’s surprised and delighted when Keith actually laughs. It’s soft and breathy, barely more than a chuckle. But it’s definitely a laugh, and that’s definitely a win. There also isn’t any denial, and he’s not sure what to make of that.

Keith stands then, pushes himself to his feet and steps away, and Lance bites back the feeling of disappointment. When he holds out his hand, Lance doesn’t hesitate to take it, letting Keith pull him to his feet. But he doesn’t let go right away, and neither does Lance, letting the touch linger. It makes him feel oddly light and giddy.

“Okay,” Lance says, plastering on a grin and cocking his head to the side, voice light and playful. “You may kick my ass in hand-to-hand combat, but you gotta admit, I’m still the best sharpshooter this side of the universe.”

Keith hums softly, looking him over casually. “True,” He says, an edge of teasing that’s hard to miss. “But I give you a run for your money.”

Lance’s smile falls. “What?”

Lifting his chin a little, turning his head slightly to the side, but keeping his eyes on Lance’s, Keith speaks loudly, voice clear and authoritative. “Display top scores on the ranged target practice simulator.”

As soon as he’s done issuing the command, there’s a light _ding_ to indicate that the command was registered before a large screen comes to life on one of the walls. Lance turns to look at it.

Their names are listed there, followed by a long string of numbers. The numbers doesn’t really mean anything to him, other than in relation to each other. He’s not at all surprised to find himself in the top most slot. What _is_ surprising, however, is that Keith’s name sits solidly in second, score well below Lance’s, but the two of them far above the others.

Lance gapes, mouth hanging open as his gaze slides back to Keith’s. He’s still watching Lance, smirk turned smug and eyes dancing. “You can shoot?” Lance asks, incredulous.

Keith’s smirk widens into a full blown grin, showing off his teeth and raising his cheeks. He takes a few steps backwards, letting his hand fall out of Lance’s naturally. “Who do you think taught _me?_ ” He asks, and as he turns to walk away, he _winks_.

And Lance is left staring after him, feeling a smile on his lips and an ache in his cheeks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“This is it?” Shiro asks, holding the small, sleek device gingerly between two fingers. He holds it up to the tight, tilting his head a little to the side, eyebrow cocked and lips forming an innocent line.

Keith stands next to him, arms crossed over his chest as he gazes up at it, eyes blinking owlishly. He, too, tilts his head to the side, and Lance has to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. They look like a couple of curious cats. “It’s kind of... small?”

Shiro lowers the device, half turning to hold it between them. “Very. Maybe it’s compact to help it, I don’t know, travel through time?”

Keith leans a little forward, putting his face closer to it as he turns his head to the other side, like that might somehow help him get a better look as Shiro fiddles with it between his fingers. “How does the feorhite even fit in there? It was bigger than this, wasn’t it?”

Shiro nods, head tilting as he holds it up at a different angle, still fiddling with it. Keith leans closer to him, eyes on the device. “Definitely. Maybe Pidge shrank it?”

Lance stands off to the side, one arm crossed over his chest and the other slaps a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. Their expressions were near identical, open, wide eyed, curious, baffled. “Oh my god,” He whispers, laughter hedging into his voice. “They’re adorable.”

“Indeed,” He glances sideways to where Allura is standing next to him, her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes fond as she watches the two. Her lips curve into an amused smile. “They really are.” She says, voice kept low and soft, private between just the two of them. “It’s nice to see them like this.”

Lance’s smile fades slightly, giving way to curiosity. “Like what?”

She gives him a one sided shrug. “Relaxed. Open. Without the weight of the world on their shoulders.” She hums thoughtfully, nodding a little to herself. “I think you and I have done a lot to help them on that front.”

Lance blinks. “We have?”

Allura turns to look at him, expression soft and thoughtful. Her smile is still there, barely present, eyes twinkling with mirth. She looks like she has a secret, one that she desperately wants to tell him, but one she knows she won’t.

“First of all,” Pidge says, voice cutting through the moment. He turns to watch her march up to where Shiro and Keith are standing, snatching the device out of Shiro’s hands. She waves it around in front of them, one hand on her hips. “The feorhite isn’t in here. It’s in the actual machine. Which brings me to my second point: this isn’t the actual machine.”

They both blink, exchanging blank looks before they both shrug, and Shiro crosses his arms over his chest before they both turn back to Pidge. “What is it then?”

Pidge rolls her eyes, turning on her heel and heading back to where Coran stands at his center console. “It’s just a digital storage unit, so we can save our recorded message to it, put it in the actual replica of the time machine, and send it to the past. They should be able to hook it up to the ship and play it back.”

“Like a space USB!” Lance says, snapping his fingers and grinning as the others turn to look at him.

Pidge just shrugs, handing the device over to Coran. “Yeah, more or less.”

“Neat.”

“It’s probably best if we keep the message short and sweet.” Coran says, plugging the device into what looks like a handheld camera. “Don’t want to give too many spoilers to the past, now do we?”

“But we have to let them know exactly what’s happening, and that we need their help making things right.” Shiro says, glancing over at where Lance stands. “And let them know that their Lance is okay.”

Lance perks up at that. “Does that mean I get to say hi?”

Shiro shrugs, small smile on his lips. “I don’t see why not.”

“How far back are sending the message?” Allura asks. “Too far and they won’t know what it’s about. Not far enough, and it might be...” Her gaze flickers to Lance, then too Coran, worry lines carving into the skin around her mouth.

Coran meets her gaze, the worry and concern echoed in his eyes as he turns solemn. He nods, reaching up to play with the edges of his mustache. “And it might be too late.” He finishes for her, voice heavy.

Lance’s brows shoot up. “Too late?” He looks between them. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His gaze shoots to Hunk, then to Pidge. They both look just as confused and surprised as he feels. Then his eyes slide to Keith, and he’s glaring between the Alteans, lips pursed into a small frown.

“Allura,” He says, voice quiet and even, but with an edge of tense wariness. “What does that mean?”

She smiles at them, waving them off. “It’s nothing, really. There’s no use worrying about it now when it’s not relevant.” Her voice is light and cheerful, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “But back to my question...” She turns to her eyes to Hunk, and he jumps.

“Right!” He scratches the back of his neck, using his other hand to gesture while he talks. “So Pidge and I replicated the time machine from Ecnes as best as we could, sizing it down and remodeling it so we don’t need that nam— namthuuur—

“Namthsurite!” Coran provides cheerfully.

Hunk snaps his fingers and points at him. “Yeah, that. So we don’t need that. Cause that’s for organic compounds, and we’re not going to send anything living through it, cause we can’t test that and who _knows_ what might happen. So we made the device, but we had to make it smaller, like much smaller, one because we don’t really have the space for a big one, and two, we don’t really _need_ a big one, and three, supplies were limited, and—“

“Hunk,” Lance says, sharp enough to get his attention, but gentle enough that it’s just a friendly prod.

“Right, sorry.” He says, laughing sheepishly. “So we made the device. It can send small things, like this storage unit—“

“Space USB.”

“—and the feorhite is in the machine to act as like, coordinates, so it’ll hone in on Keith.” He sends the red paladin a nervous glance, one that looks like he’s worried about broaching certain subjects. Lance can’t really blame him. Not after what they all saw Keith go through.

But Keith remains calm, not even flinching at the mention of the stone that had cost him so much pain. In fact, Keith had been a lot calmer today in general. More sociable. The bags under his eyes smaller. Easier to smile. Not as many shadows in his eyes. Lance can’t say for certain, but he feels like it has a lot to do with him actually getting a good night’s sleep. In his bed. Cuddled up to his side...

Boy, is it hot in here, or is it just him?

“And I set the machine to go back exactly one year from now. That way, it should hit Keith— past Keith— at a time where the same amount of time has passed since the switch _there_ as it has _here_.” He shrugs. “It’s not a perfect system, but it’s as close as we can get.”

“How will we know if they get it?” Keith asks, glancing between them as the tense air of uncertainty seems to settle around the room. They all wear worried expression, eyes darting between them. Eventually, they all settle on Pidge.

She bites her lip, looking down from where she’s leaning up against Coran’s console, arms crossed loosely over her chest. “We, uh, haven’t really figured that out yet...”

“It’s not like they have a time machine to send one back to us.” Hunk puts in, saying what they’re all thinking.

“We can only hope that they receive our message, and that they’ll go to Ecnes quickly to fix the switch.” Allura says, voice firm with conviction, though worry still shone in her eyes.

Lance glances around between them. They all looked a little lost in thought, contemplative, trying to find a solution to the puzzle when it’s staring them right in the face.

“We could just ask them to leave a message around the castle.”

Everyone turns to look at him, and he tries not to fidget under the intensity of their stares. It’s not that he’s not used to their attention. He _likes_ having their attention. But it’s usually after he makes a joke or something. This is different. This is them looking to him for an explanation, for direction. There’s no sign of judging, disbelief, or dismissal. Just... open and honest curiosity, waiting to hear what he has to say. Like it might actually be worth their time. Like what he says actually matters.

He has their full attention, and it’s intense.

And it sends a little thrill through him.

He stands a little straighter, raises his chin a little higher, and tries to project a confident nonchalance that he desperately wants to feel. “You know, like... they’re in the past? Our past? So if they leave a message around the castle, we should find it here, right?”

He waits for the idea to sink in, watches as the lightbulb goes off for everyone, one by one, watches with a small smile as each of their eyes brighten.

“But if they leave a message in the castle, then it’ll be here for a year.” Hunk says.

Pidge picks up his train of thought easily. “And who’s to say we won’t find it throughout the course of the last year? It needs to be some place we can go look for it now— well not _now_ , but as soon as we send the message.”

“It needs to be somewhere we wouldn’t have looked or touched throughout the year.” Allura adds, thoughtful as her delicate brows crease, eyes drifting around the room as her lips purse in thought. “If we figure out a place to put it, we can instruct them to leave us something there in our message.”

“Does, uh, anyone _remember_ leaving a note or something around the castle?” Hunk tries, but everyone shakes their heads.

“Sorry, Hunk,” Coran says, sounding apologetic as he taps a finger to his temple. “My memories from this whole ordeal are still pretty fuzzy, I’m afraid.”

There’s an echo of agreement around the room.

“I have an idea.” Keith says, cutting through the contemplative silence that had settled.

“What’s your idea?” Shiro asks, one eyebrow raised.

Keith purses his lips and shrugs. “Just... trust me. I’ll tell Lance where to leave a note. He’ll know what it means.”

Lance cocks an eyebrow. That sounded really vague, but... everyone seems to take it at face value.

“Well, now that that’s settled, shall we begin?” Allura asks, clasping her hands together.

“Indeed! If you would, princess?” Coran says, gesturing to the center podium with a small bow. She takes up her position without hesitation, and everyone drifts off to the side. “Ready?” He asks, holding up he camera.

Allura nods, face set, determination flaring in her eyes. “Let’s begin.”

A red dot appears as they start the recording.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You sleep with a _bomb?_ ” Lance says, trailing after Keith through the hallways of the castle.

After the message had been sent, Keith had immediately started for the doors. Going for whatever super secret hiding spot he implied to future him. No point in waiting around when, supposedly, the letter has been there the whole time, right?

Lance had started after him, feet already moving to follow before he really realized he was doing so. Like an invisible string connected them, tugging at his chest and forcing him to follow. He didn’t realize until the doors had shut behind them that the others had decided to stay put, content to simply wait for Keith to return with whatever news there was from the past.

At that point, it felt awkward to turn around and go back, and honestly, he didn’t really want to. He _wants_ to follow Keith.

And he’s certain it has everything to do with his curiosity about this whole thing, a message from _his future self_ , and nothing to do with the fact that... he’s really starting to enjoy being around Keith.

This Keith is... soft. He’s more open. His expressions are easier to read, or maybe Lance is just getting better at reading them. He’s not really sure. But this Keith feels... more attuned to him, just as he is to Keith. Hard, jagged edges that have been rounded and worn with time. Scars may mar his body, but they somehow haven’t made him harder. The opposite actually. Makes him more personable. More approachable. Easier to deal with. And the looks he gives Lance, the knowing, fond, and heart achingly deep and desperate looks…

Lance finds himself drawn to him, inexplicably and frighteningly so. Like Keith has his own gravitational pull, and Lance is caught in the middle of it, unable to escape and not entirely sure he wants to.

This Keith has always kept him off balance, off kilter, surprising him in ways that aren’t necessarily bad, but definitely keep him on his toes, keep him guessing, keep him from being entirely certain where they stand because everything is so similar and yet so, so different.

He’s off balance around him, and he has the light, dizzying feeling that he’s going to fall. But there’s not an ounce of dread about it. Instead, it’s a strange exhilaration. A buzz in his veins. An excitement crawling like a living thing beneath his skin.

“It’s not exactly a bomb...” Keith says, tone exasperated with an edge of sheepishness. He doesn’t turn around as he leads them further into the castle, steps quick and brisk, eager and determined. Like he needs to get to that message from the past _right now_ , and every second away from it tears at his skin.

Lance gets the feeling that if he weren’t here, Keith would be running, but... he’s not. And he’s gets the distinct impression it’s so Lance can keep up with him. It’s... oddly thoughtful.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Lance continues, eyes on Keith’s back. He’s wearing Lance’s jacket again, and it fits him well, even if the sleeves are a little long. He doesn’t want to own up to the little thrill that had gone through him when Keith had walked into the castle bridge wearing it, or the curious looks that the others had given him. “I’ve always known you were a little weird and a bit of an edge lord, but a _bomb_ , Keith?”

“That’s not—“

“Then again, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. You did set off explosives as a distraction when we rescued Shiro, so I guess you’ve always had a thing for—“

“Lance, it’s not like that.” Keith says, cutting him off. His voice is clipped, but not angry. Exasperated, but not frustrated. It’s odd. Like the same kind of tone he’s used to hearing from Keith, but without the actual heat behind it.

He turns his head to glare at him over his shoulder, coming to a stop in the middle of the hallway, and once again, there’s no real heat to it. Annoyance, yeah, but nothing deeper than surface level. Maybe that’s why Keith has looked so pouty lately. Without the actual anger behind his scowl, it just comes off as, well, a pout. It’s... kind of cute.

And he would _really_ like to stop using that as an adjective that suits Keith, please and thank you.

“Then what _is_ it like?” He asks, stopping and shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, meeting Keith’s glare with a flat stare. “I was there, Keith. You said bomb.”

Keith rolls his eyes and then sighs, turning away as a hand reaches up to run through his hair, stopping to scratch at the back of his neck. His other hand hangs at his side, fingers idly rubbing together, tapping at the heel of his palm. When he doesn’t move or say anything, Lance closes the distance, walking up next to him and leaning over so he can see his face. Keith’s gaze flickers to him, then away, jaw working roughly as he thinks.

“Don’t grind your teeth,” Lance mumbles, more out of reflex than anything, an offhanded remark like he might make if someone was biting at their cuticles or picking at a scab. The reaction is instant though. Keith’s jaw immediately relaxes, eyes flickering to his with an odd expression that he can’t quite decipher. He decides not to dwell on it. “Well?” He prods instead. “What’s up with this bomb business?”

Keith sighs again, standing a little straighter, even as his body slumps in defeat. “Do you remember my knife?”

Lance cocks an eyebrow, leaning his weight back on his heels. “You mean the one that’s basically glued to your back twenty-four seven?”

Keith’s smile is small. “Yeah. It’s my knife.”

“Your knife is a bomb?”

“No, but when I said it, I meant my knife.”

Lance’s brows furrow, lips turning down at the corners. “But you said bomb. I heard you.”

“I said _BOM_.” He says, putting emphasis on the word, but it still sounds the same. When Lance just continues to stare blankly, Keith huffs a short sigh through his nose. “As in B, O, M.”

He feels one eyebrow raise. “What does that mean?”

“It has to do with my knife. Just— Lance will— _you_ will know what it means.” He says, voice laced with frustration and exhaustion. He hadn’t spoken for long on the recording, but he had come out of it with shadows in his eyes, lips tugging downward, and shoulders hunching in on himself.

“Why didn’t you just say knife?”

Keith has already started walking again, and Lance has to scramble to keep with with his quick strides. Keith keeps his eyes forward as he answers. “Because I didn’t want the others in your time to know what I meant. Especially _me_. So the message can stay hidden.”

“Oh,” He says, small and understanding. He can practically feel the agitation coming off Keith in waves, a tension, an anticipation, coiled tight and radiating off him thick enough to choke the air. His jaw is back at it again, but this time Lance stays silent. Keith already looks a million miles away.

He’s already pulling ahead in his eagerness, moving as quickly as he can while it still being considered walking, but Lance can see how his hands are curled into tight fists, the tendons in his neck standing out in stark relief against his skin.

His eyes wander lower, to Keith’s back. His jacket sits well across his shoulders, falling looser around the waist. It’s baggy on _him_ , and Keith isn’t too much bigger than himself. His gaze lingers at Keith’s lower back. He can’t see anything hidden beneath the jacket, but... now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t really remember if he’s seen this Keith with his knife at all. The knife that’s always on him.

No, now that he’s thinking about it, he’s certain he hasn’t seen it since arriving in the future.

“Where’s your knife?” He asks, words leaving him before he realizes he’s spoken aloud.

When he looks up, he can see Keith stiffen, shooting him a quick look before turning away. But not before he catches sight of the blush that creeps up to stain his cheeks. “Hmm?” He asks, humming the question, even though Lance knows he heard him just fine.

“You don’t have it, right? I don’t think I’ve seen it on you since I got here.”

“Oh, I, uh...” Keith says, confidence wavering and frustration forgotten as he flounders for what to say. It’s strange, seeing Keith at a loss for words, for how to articulate himself. He’s usually so brutally blunt. Even when he’s uncertain, his voice is always strong, conviction and hardness radiating from him like a weapon and a shield.

But right now, Keith turns sheepish. Shoulders hiking up to his ears, head ducking down. And when he speaks, his voice has gone quiet, still with that slight raspy quality he’s growing familiar with, but gentle around the edges.

“I gave it to you.”

Lance blinks. “Me? Like future me?” Keith just nods. A quick, sharp movement. “Why?”

He shrugs, turning down the hall that leads to their rooms. “In case you needed it... You were going down into a dangerous area, and I thought you might need extra protection.” A soft sigh in the form of a long exhale, leaving his lips heavy. His shoulders slump a fraction, a bone deep weariness weighing on his voice as he grumbles. “Not that it worked.”

“But you never let that knife out of your sight!” He says, throwing his arms into the air. “You once nearly gutted Pidge when she tried to touch it! Why would you give it to _me?_ ”

Keith stops walking abruptly, quick pace cutting to a halt sudden enough that Lance nearly runs into him before stumbling backwards. They’re in front of his room, Keith’s room, and the older paladin is just staring at it, apprehension, nervousness, excitement, and worry vying for attention on his features. But his lips quirk up at the corners, forming the smallest lopsided smile. “Yeah, but I trust you.”

Lance feels a jolt run through him, surprised at how offhanded and genuine the statement could be. So matter-of-fact and sincere. Just a statement, said in a way that left no room to doubt that was exactly how Keith felt.

He trusts Lance. He trusts _him_. Or rather, future him. But he’ll be future him one day, right? And that, by extension is just... him.

Keith trusts him.

That fact settles in his chest, warm and crackling, spreading out through his limbs and melting away any tension he might have felt.

The door slides open, snapping Lance out of his reverie and bringing him back into the moment.

Keith’s shoulders are squared as he steps into his room, strides purposeful and sharp as he practically marches over to his bed, chin lifted high and jaw clenched.

He’s nervous, but determined. Like he doesn’t know what he might find, and hopes for the best, but steels himself for the worst anyway.

Lance steps up to the doorway, hovering just inside the room. For someone who’s been on this ship for over a year, Keith’s room is... really barren. The air seems stale, despite the castle’s filtration system. The bed is left messy, but not messy enough to indicate constant use. Which would make sense, seeing as he slept with Lance last night.

There’s nothing hanging on the walls, knickknacks scattering the floor, no souvenirs from the places they’ve been. That, in and of itself, isn’t too strange. He never really pegged Keith as a sentimental type of guy. But the lack of _anything_ personal strikes him as... odd.

There are a few boxes and things around, but none of it looks like anything of importance. Dust seems to gather in all the nooks and crannies of the room, adding to the overall musty smell in the room.

The only thing that seems personal is a box on the floor near the bed. It’s untouched by dust, and whatever is inside seems to have been haphazardly thrown, as if he had been in a hurry or impatient, and hadn’t quite touched them since. The box itself is pretty sizable and filled to the top, but he can’t see anything beyond the pile of those silver picture disks on the top.

“Not really one for interior decorating, huh?” He says, voice sounding odd in the still air of the room. Or maybe that’s his own uneasiness showing.

Keith just shrugs, a movement that’s barely noticeable as he sits on the edge of his bed. He glances around the room, blinking owlishly as he takes it all in, looking for the world like he hadn’t really noticed. “I don’t really... spend a lot of time here.” He says, slow and deliberate, words rolling off his tongue with care.

Lance cocks an eyebrow. “But it’s... your room?”

Keith shrugs again, making a noncommittal sound and looking away. Lance can tell from the haze in his eyes that he’s already a million miles away. He sighs, shoulders slumping. He knows he could push the issue, maybe get some sort of actual answer out of him, but he figures he’ll leave Keith with some of his privacy. Besides, they’re here for a reason.

“So...” He says, trailing off as he takes a few long, purposeful strides across the room to drop to the edge of the bed next to Keith. The mattress bounces, but Keith doesn’t seem to notice. Lance leans back on his hands, stretching his feet out in front of him. “You hide the bomb in your room? Not very safe, if you ask me.”

Keith snorts, a short, sharp almost laugh, and Lance glances over with a grin on his lips. He can see Keith’s tension easing a bit, but it doesn’t disappear entirely. At least when he rolls his eyes, he no longer looks distant. “Not a bomb,” He repeats, reaching over to grab his pillow and toss it aside. “My knife. I used to sleep with it under my pillow.”

“Not exactly _safe_ , but I’m also not surprised.” Lance mumbles, leaning forward to watch as Keith slips off the bed, crouching on his toes, knees bent, by the head of the bed. His brows are furrowed, hidden behind his thick fringe. Lips pursed into a frown.

“I told Lance— you— to put the return message where I put my knife while I slept...” He says, hand hesitating on the mattress, body stilling as his words trail off.

Lance raises his brow, glancing at the pillow that had been cast aside, and then at the spot it had just recently been. “It’s not under your pillow.”

Keith shakes his head. “That would be too obvious. I would have— past me— I would have seen the letter, and probably read it, which would ruin the whole point of this. No, Lance would have put it somewhere that I wouldn’t have checked until now.” He holds his breath. Lance can hear it catching in his throat. Can see how he steels himself, expression tight and stiff as he lifts up the edge of the mattress.

Lance waits, body coiling tight with anticipation, eyes locked onto Keith’s face. Waiting.

And then Keith’s breath leaves him in a rush, entire body slumping and relief easing every hard edge of his expression, leaving him looking soft, and open, and gentle. He doesn’t quite smile, but he doesn’t quite need to. He reaches forward with his other hand, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper before letting the mattress edge drop. Then he stands, collapsing back onto the bed next to Lance with an exhausted sigh.

Lance glances down at the paper in his hand, at the familiar handwriting in blue ink.

_Keith, if you find this, don’t open it until you need it. You’ll know when._

Lance huffs out a short chuckle, eyeing the seal of the letter. It looks like it had already been opened. “Did I _really_ think that would keep you from looking?”

“Obviously it didn’t work.” Keith says, fiddling with the letter in his hands. “I vaguely remember finding this, but...” There’s a slight pinch to his brows. “I don’t remember what it says....” He trails off, fingers running along the edge of the letter.

“Well, what’re you waiting for?” Lance says, nudging Keith’s shoulder with his own. “Open it!”

“Right,” He says, nodding curtly. With careful fingers and slow movements, like the letter in his hand might disappear if he moves to abruptly, he unfolds it.

Lance leans into his shoulder, pressing up against his arm. His eyes lock onto the familiar script, something that looks exactly like his own but which he has no memory of writing. It takes him all of five seconds for it to click into place. And when it does, he sucks in an audible breath, straightening and leaning away a fraction to search Keith’s face.

“You speak _Spanish?_ ” He asks, voice incredulous and much louder than he expected.

Keith chuckles, soft and low and rumbling, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. But he doesn’t look up. Instead, his eyes remain on the paper in his hand, holding it like it were a precious treasure, fingertips moving along the ink, wary of smudging it but unable to stop. “Sí.” He says, short and simple, strangely breathless.

“How? _When?_ ” He sputters, hands flailing uselessly. Keith can speak Spanish? Someone in space who can speak his mother tongue? Someone who’s been right there all along— “Have you always— Why didn’t you _tell_ me—?”

“Lance, calm down.” Keith says, and the steadiness of his voice, the gentle rumble of it, does wonders to soothe his fraying energy, but it doesn’t cut him off quite like the hand that lands on his thigh, just above his knee. It’s an absent minded gesture, one that he’s not entirely sure Keith is aware of. His attention is still solely on the letter in his hand. But Lance is aware of it. Far, far too aware of it. His hand is solid and warm and as comforting as it is unsettling. Still, Lance does nothing to move it. “I didn’t always know Spanish. I definitely don’t know it in your time.”

“Then how...?”

He turns then, glancing at Lance out of the corner of his eye, a sparkle there that has fire burning behind his ribs. He smiles, small and secret. “You taught me.” He looks back to the letter then, hand leaving Lance’s thigh to hold it with both hands. His leg suddenly feels cold. “This is actually... really clever.” Keith says, amusement layering his voice as he chuckles under his breath. “I didn’t really start learning Spanish until I moved out of this room, so if I had found this letter, it would have been during a time when I couldn’t read it.”

“You moved out of this room?”

Keith glances at him, sparkle gone and smile fading, a sharp look in his eyes before he looks away and mumbles. “Things got... hectic. I left for a while, and when I came back... I moved rooms not long after.”

“Oh,” Is all Lance can think to say. He wants to ask more, wants to pry, but he can tell that Keith won’t be answering him. He has that steeled look about him, the one Lance is starting to recognize, the mask he puts on when he refuses to answer any more questions about the future.

Silence settles around the room as Keith stares at the letter, attention undivided and face softening as he reads, that steely mask melting into... something else. Something that has Lance’s heart doing weird things. Maybe he’s getting another dizzy spell?

After a moment of watching Keith’s eyes flick along the page, he leans back in, pressing into Keith’s shoulder to get a better look as he reads the letter himself.

 

_Dear Keith:_

_Estoy aquí. Estoy a salvo. Intercambié lugares con mi yo pasado aunque me parece que eso tú ya lo sabes ¿Espero que mi yo pasado no te esté causando muchos problemas? El joven tú es adorable. Ya me había olvidado cuan gruñón solías ser. Es tierno._

_Fuimos a Ecnes y la máquina no funcionó. Está simplemente… muerta. No se prende ni nada. No tengo ni la menor idea cómo se supone que logremos intercambiarnos de vuelta pero Coran dijo que quizá necesitemos algo de su ayuda de aquel lado. Una buena forma de empezar probablemente esté en esos escáneres Pidge dijo que obtuvo antes de que el planeta colapsara ¿Quizá enviándolos en otro USB espacial? Ah, de paso, el último apareció de la nada y te dió un tortazo justo en la frente. Hubiese sido graciosísimo si no te hubieses caído y roto la cabeza contra el suelo. Supongo que mejor debo seguirte para atajarte la próxima vez que suceda ¿verdad?  
Coran dijo que la máquina probablemente tenga partes que necesitemos reemplazar. Cosas que probablemente sean difíciles de encontrar. Así que quizá necesitemos su ayuda. Trataremos de mantener el contacto lo más que podamos con… ya sabes. Estas circunstancias. _

_Y no te quiero preocupar mucho, pero… me estoy enfermando. Gravemente. Un mal debido al viaje en el tiempo. Allura y Coran lo llaman ‘’Chronolomia”. Creo que ya lo saben en tu tiempo pero no quieren preocupar a todos. Mi yo pasado no debería sentirlo tanto hasta dentro de una semana más o algo así pero como técnicamente este es mi segundo salto temporal, la tengo peor._

_Deja de fruncir el ceño y apretar tus dientes. Y sí, sé que lo estás haciendo ahora mismo. Vas a destruir tus colmillitos ¡Y no puedes negar que tienes colmillitos, yo los VI! Y recuerda lo que te dije sobre las arrugas. No hay punto alguno en preocuparse por esto, porque lo arreglaremos... ¡Así que con la mente en el juego, corazón!_

_Yo solo… realmente espero que podamos resolverlo pronto. Quiero volver a casa, a mi hogar. Te extraño y extraño al resto del grupo. Quiero decir tanto, tanto más pero probablemente no debo. No sabemos quién podría leer esto. Pero… ya lo sabes. Ya lo sabes, Keith. Trata de no llorar por esto ¿está bien?_

_P.D. Si mi yo más joven está leyendo esto, aquí van unos consejitos de oro._

_Pidge va a desafiarte al Mario Kart porque es un demonio que hace trampa pero hay otros juegos que puedes jugar. Pídele a Hunk que te prepare su créme brulee espacial. CONFÍA EN MÍ con esta. Querrás probarla. No juegues a las escondidas con Coran, él VA A GANAR.  
Shiro se ve todo grandecito y aterrador pero es un osito de peluche gigante. Sólo recuerda: sus orejas están salidas. Keith debe de saber qué hace cada uno de mis productos de belleza así que pregúntale sobre eso. No necesitamos que mi impecable piel se agriete. Además, golpéalo en el brazo por mi. Y si empiezas a sentirte inquieto o ansioso, hay juguetes estimulantes en todo el castillo. Pregúntale a Keith sobre ellos si aún no te los ha mostrado. Aunque seguramente ya lo ha hecho. Él es así de guay._

_Hasta la later  
-Lance_

 

Lance reads through it once. Then twice. And a third time for good measure. The entire time, Keith doesn’t move. He can feel the red paladin relax at his side, body slumped, but he can’t bring himself to look at him. He doesn’t make a move to set the letter aside, and he can’t possibly be _that_ slow of a reader, so Lance has a feeling he’s reading it several times as well.

And there are just... so many questions.

It’s odd. Seeing a letter in his handwriting, in his mother tongue, clearly written by himself. But... _he_ didn’t write it. At least not yet. It’s an ever stranger feeling to be addressed by himself. Not a bad weird, just... weird.

It has his chest tight and his stomach doing these weird, indecisive flips.

He has so many questions. So many. And they jumble around in his head, vying for attention, each one bumping into the next so frantically that he can’t quite articulate his thoughts, can’t quite sort them out, can’t quite figure out what to say.

Then something hits the page, smearing it with moisture, soaking into the paper, and Lance stares at it, thoughts going eerily silent as his questions take a back burner to the fact that... Keith is... crying?

It’s only then that he notices that Keith’s hands are shaking, making the letter itself vibrate in his hands.

Then one hand leaves the paper, and Lance follows it with his gaze, watching as Keith rubs one eye roughly with the heel of his hand. “I promised I wouldn’t cry.” He mumbles, but it’s not said with any sort of anger or frustration, no hard clips or irritation. And despite the words, he doesn’t look at all upset about it. At least, not in the way Lance expects.

The words are choked out between a wet laugh, one that bubbles up his throat and bursts from his lips like a surprise, unable to be contained. His mouth is tilted up at the corners, muscle wavering but still smiling. And his eyes, though glassy and red rimmed, have a look in them that has Lance’s chest aching.

It’s so incredibly... relieved. Soft. Fond. Affectionate. _Happy_.

Lance isn’t stupid. He knows that Keith has been worried about his future self. It’s been obvious. Not just him, but the rest of the team, too. But it doesn’t really sink in until Lance looks at him now, sees how relieved he is to _know_ that his future self— _his_ Lance— is okay.

And the simple fact that Keith looks like that over _him_ sends a fire burning through his chest, spreading out to his limbs and fraying his nerves, leaving him numb and tingly in it’s wake. He feels like the air has been punched out of his lungs as he watches Keith wipe roughly at this eyes, gaze still downcast at the letter.

Then his hand drops, stops at his chest, fingers curling into something that rests against his sternum, just below his shirt, fiddling with it in a gesture that looks absent minded. Not for the first time, Lance wonders what he’s hiding there. What’s so important.

Lance doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to approach the moment. Doesn’t want to draw attention to Keith’s tears, the thick mix of happiness and deep seeded sorrow on his face. Doesn’t want to tease him about it. He’s not entirely sure he wants to break the silence. This seems like something... too private. Something he shouldn’t be seeing.

But he has questions. So many questions. Questions that are probably important and some that are not.

So he goes for the first one that slips past his lips. “You have fangs?”

“What?” Keith asks, voice barely more than a breath as he turns to look at him, cheeks dry but eyes red and glassy. He blinks, seeming to come more into himself, into the present moment. HIs brows pinch in innocent confusion.

Lance points at the letter. “Fangs? I tell you to not to damage your fangs?”

“Oh,” Keith blinks, then looks at the letter, a small, secretive smile tugging at his mouth. “You just... like to say when I get angry, my fangs come out.”

Lance hums his acknowledgement. He has a lot of things he wants to ask. Like corazón, for example. Have he and Keith really gotten close enough that future him is fine using teasing pet names? But... looking at Keith’s reaction to his letter, he’d say yeah. Yeah, they are.

But that knowledge can’t quite stop the sinking feeling in his gut or the way his stomach feels like lead. Because he’s still stuck on the whole _fangs_ thing, but not necessarily because of the fangs themselves, but because of what future him says right before that—

“Keith...” He says, voice quieter than he intended, a little breathless as he finds it harder to take in a full breath. He can feel the numbness of surprise fading, feels the knowledge sinking in, feels the alarm starting to spread through his body, crawling beneath his skin, squeezing his chest.

Keith looks at him sharply, instantly alert. He’s staring at the letter, but he can feel Keith’s eyes on him, roaming over his face and leaving burning trails in their wake.

“Lance?” Keith’s voice is just as quiet, concern layered with wariness.

“He’s... I’m...” His arms wrap around his stomach out of pure instinct, shoulder hunching as he pulls in on himself, a shiver of dread crawling down his spine as he forces the words out, barely louder than a whisper. “Time travel sickness?”

He lifts his gaze to Keith’s, feels them lock and the rest of the room seem to fade away. He watches as Keith’s eyes widen just a fraction, gears turning behind those dark irises, puzzle pieces clicking into place, words sinking in. He sees the panic for just a moment before it’s clamped down, locked away.

Then Keith’s eyes are hard, determined, a spark of fire that he’s long come to associate with Keith welling up like an ember, coming to life like a wildfire. His jaw is set, clenched hard as his entire expression steels.

He stands quickly, sudden enough that Lance’s mind is left reeling, eyes desperately trying to follow the movement. The letter clenched in one hand, he reaches out and take’s Lance’s with the other. Gloved fingers prying Lance’s apart and weaving them together, squeezing their hands palm to palm.

“Come on,” He says, and there’s a steadiness there. A sternness. Something hard and anchoring that Lance can latch onto, grounding him, keeping him from floating away in the storm of his own rising panic. “We need to show this to the others.”

And then he’s pulling Lance to his feet, tugging him out of the room and down the hall, headed back to the bridge.

Lance can feel his heartbeat is erratic, can feel it found against his ribcage. His breaths come short and clipped. He feels like he might be light headed, but he honestly can’t tell if that’s paranoia, his rising panic, or an actual dizzy spell.

He’s getting sick. He _is_ sick in the future. The past? And he’ll be sick soon too. Bad sick. Bad enough that Coran and Allura haven’t wanted to worry them. The time machine here is gone. The time machine in the past is broken.

Something else rises inside him. Something dark and twisting and hollow, sucking him in and leaving him feeling empty. Homesickness. He wants to go home.

He can hear his breath wheezing through his throat, wants to claw at it, to scream, hit something, run, _anything_ —

There’s a squeeze at his hand, and it pulls him back to the present. He opens his eyes, unaware that he had closed them, to find Keith half turned, worried eyes fixed on his as they walk quickly through the halls.

“It’s going to be okay.” He says, with all the conviction in the world, soft and gentle as he squeezes Lance’s hand again. He can feel the warmth through the leather of his gloves. “We’re going to fix this. We’re going to get you home.” He turns around then, chin held high, jaw set, and eyes fixed forward. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He says, voice softer, quieter, but no less intense.

It’s conviction. Determination. Without a doubt and without hesitation. A promise. And Lance clings to it, using it to keep himself steady.

“Nothing will happen to you.” He says, and even when Keith squeezes his hand hard enough that he thinks it might break, Lance doesn’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [English Translation of Future Lance's Letter](https://www.dropbox.com/s/gztwaed8256aqqf/Lances_Letter.pdf?raw=1)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ["Ghost of the Future"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/21934646)  
> [My Tumblr](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Bo's Main Tumblr](http://www.zizzani.tumblr.com), [Bo's Art Tumblr](http://dreamwips.tumblr.com/),  
> and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/anna_bohac)  
> 


	7. Not As I Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of a disheartening letter from the past, the team must pool their efforts in an attempt to gather as much information as they can for their past selves. Lance’s unease grows with every day that passes, but Keith’s presence provides a comfort and warmth that Lance finds himself growing increasingly fond of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! We're back again with more time travel shenanigans. 
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support and fantastic comments! We love hearing your thoughts and theories as you try to untwist the tangled web of our time travel nonsense. Some of you have gotten close, but I don't think anyone has hit the nail directly on the head yet. We love hearing you ramble in our comments, but if you'd like an answer, try hoping on over to our tumblrs! It's easier for us to answer direct questions there. 
> 
> Special Request From Us: I did one of these in my last chapter of TMWM, and it helped a lot of people. So I'm doing it here, too. Please, please do not stay up late reading these chapters. Please don't put off important obligations, studying, homework, chores, ect. We know you're excited to read, and I know full well the drive to read something you love. But these will be here when you're ready. Combined, these chapters are running over 20k words. Divide it up or wait until you have plenty of time to relax and enjoy yourself. Take care of yourselves, my dudes <3
> 
> As always, there are mirrored moments in actions, conversations, and themes. Little easter eggs and nuggets that weave our two fics together. If you haven't already, don't forget to check out chapter seven of [Ghost of the Future](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/31641354) when you're done! Happy reading!

“You _knew_ about this?” Hunk asks, mouth dropped open and brows furrowed. His voice cracks, and Lance winces a little at the volume. There are very few times he’s seen Hunk look mad, and even fewer where he’s seen him look betrayed. And right now he looks like both. Lance is just glad he’s not on the receiving end of that look.

Allura has the decency to look ashamed. She flinches, just a minute twitch, before her shoulders hunch, pulling in on herself as she turns to Coran. He still stands tall, but worry is etched into the lines of his face, and there’s a weary exhaustion that seems to hang heavy on his shoulders.

Coran looks older in that moment. What’s usually hidden behind a cheerful bravado and an enthusiastic smile comes to the surface.

Something silent passes between them before Coran tilts his head just a fraction, a small, soft smile shadowing the edges of his lips. “Looks like the mouse is out of the bag, princess.” He says, voice gentle and encouraging, a soft lift not quite able to mask the worry.

“That’s...” Lance lifts a finger, trying to draw attention, lighten the mood. But his voice isn’t as strong as he had been hoping for. It cracks slightly, and no one is really paying attention to him anyway. All eyes are on Allura and Coran, hard and unyielding. He sighs, letting his hand drop. “Not really how that phrase goes...”

“We had our suspicions...” Allura starts, soft and halting. She bites at her bottom lip, brows furrowed as her gaze lingers on Coran.

“So you knew.” Pidge says, voice flat and clipped.

Allura sighs, back straightening as she turns to face them. Her shoulders pull back, chin lifting. “Yes,” She says, waver gone and replaced by a steely strength. In that moment, she looks everything like the princess she is, bearing far too much weight for her age.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Hunk asks, anger leaking out of him as his posture slumps. His hands are clenched in front of him, restlessly intertwining his fingers, trying to crack joints that won’t crack anymore.

“You knew.” Keith’s voice is cutting. A low, accusatory rumble.

Lance glances at him, but surprisingly, Keith isn’t looking at either of the Alteans. His eyes are on Shiro, standing off to the side of the center platform. His arms are crossed over his chest, chin tilted down as his eyes fixate on a point on the ground. His lips are pursed into a thin line, lines around his eyes making his gaze hard. He doesn’t look the least bit surprised.

He doesn’t need to look up to know Keith is talking to him.

He sighs, eyes closing for a long moment. “Yes,” When he opens them, he lifts his head, meeting Keith’s unwavering gaze. “Allura told me of the... possibility.”

“When?”

“A few nights ago.”

“And you didn’t bother telling the rest of us?” Keith snaps, words clipped, voice straining.

There’s anger there. An unbridled rage that comes from betrayal. From a breach of trust. But there’s something more. Something raw and barely contained. A part of him that’s lashing out in an attempt to keep from crumbling. There are cracks in his mask. Beneath his scowl and the heat in his voice, Lance can see the shadows of the same Keith he found in an alcove at night, gaze lost in the stars. Of the Keith that reached desperately for him after what happened on Achore. Of the Keith that looks at him with a deep seeded melancholy when he thinks Lance isn’t paying attention.

“You didn’t bother telling _Lance?_ ” Keith says, throwing a hand out to gesture to him, movements jagged and stiff before he recrossed his arms over his chest. “Telling _me?_ ” The last part is softer, hurt leaking past his anger. Lance can see the way Shiro’s face contorts with guilt.

“We didn’t want to worry anyone.” Allura cuts in, and everyone turns back to her. Her lips press into a frown as she glances to Coran. He gives her a small nod, and she continues, gaze sweeping across the rest of them. “We didn’t know how long it would take to fix this issue, and the symptoms of the disease take time to set in. We were hoping we could find a solution to this problem before having to address the... side effects.”

Side effects.

Like him getting sick.

 _Bad_ sick, according to his future self.

He isn’t even aware that he’s fidgeting until he catches Keith turning to look at him, thick brows furrowed and lips pursed. He’s hovering nearby, not close enough to touch, but close enough that Lance _could_ , theoretically, reach out to him. It’s a strange thing, that Keith’s presence is a comfort. It’s a new thing. Feeling more confident and grounded when near him. Being drawn to him, to simply want to be in his orbit.

At least.

He’s pretty sure it’s a new thing...

Maybe it’s not as knew as he had originally thought.

“How you feeling, buddy?”

He snaps out of his thoughts, blinking out of the haze and turning to find Hunk close by, hovering just a fraction too close. Now he loves Hunk. He really does. Best bros for life. But right now, there’s a lot happening. Too much. Too much all at once. His brain is having a hard time letting everything sink in, let alone settle. And as a result, his body is restless. His hands slap fervently against his thighs, trying to distract from the itch across his skin, the way his chest feels too full, too tight.

Hunk is close, but he’s really fucking grateful that neither Hunk nor Keith try to touch him in that moment. Physical comfort would be too much. And maybe… they can read him well enough to know that.

“Fine,” He manages to choke out, flashing Hunk a smile that feels brittle.

It does nothing to dampen the worry etched across Hunk’s face.

“Have you felt anything weird?” Pidge asks, stepping up beside Hunk, eyeing Lance with that scrutinizing gaze that’s sharp and calculating, like she can somehow crack him open and examine the gears of his insides.

He looks away, unable to meet her scrutiny or Hunk’s worry. He finds Keith’s gaze, but there’s just _so much_ going on there that makes the ache in his chest worse. So his eyes slide past him to Shiro, to Allura, to Coran. They’re all staring at him with varying degrees of worry and helplessness and fear and—

And Lance really doesn’t like it. He shoves his hands deep in his pockets, forcing himself to relax but unable to fully rid himself of the tension in his shoulders. He plasters a smile on his face, easy going and casual. He doesn’t want to worry them further, but he really doesn’t want to lie to them either. So he shrugs, letting his head loll to the side. “I’ve gotten dizzy a couple of times, just some vertigo, but I didn’t think anything of it.”

Keith’s lips purse tight. Shiro’s brows furrow as he looks away. Pidge’s eyes narrow, a soft hum vibrating from her throat. Hunk bits his lip, fingers pushing at each other relentlessly until Lance is worried they might break.

“We have no proof, but I don’t think we should discount such occurrences.” Allura says, voice hard, one of action. “Lance, make sure you tell us should it happen again. Or if you feel odd in any other way. We want to make sure we’re aware of its progression.”

He nods, shooting her a grin he hopes is flippant and unbothered. “You got it, princess.”

No one looks particularly convinced, but Keith’s gaze lingers on him the longest.

“How long until it gets worse?” Hunk asks, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Allura’s eyes flicker back to Coran’s, uncertain. He clears his throat, taking a step forward. His arms are crossed over his chest, one hand lifted to idly stroke his mustache. “We can’t be entirely certain. There’s not much opportunity to study the disease, but I estimate we should have a couple more movements before things get dire. But we should keep an eye on the situation as best we can.”

“And when they switch back?” Shiro is far better at hiding his worry than the others, steeling it behind solid words and a tone that gives them direction. But Lance can see the tension in the edges of his expression and the way his fists are clenched tight against tense biceps.

Coran nods once. “Then everything should go back to normal.”

“What’s causing it?” Lance asks, feeling restless under the pressure of his everyone’s eyes, but keeping his own on Coran. He fists one hand tight in a pocket, blunt nails digging into his palm as he uses the sharp pain to keep himself grounded. His other hand fiddles with Keith’s hair tie, tangling it in his fingers. Coran blinks at him for a moment, and Lance shifts his weight, rolling his head to the side. “You know, is there something besides just _being_ here? Is there a way to prevent it?”

Coran’s head tilts, face softening. “I’m afraid that’s just the thing, my boy. The problem is that you’re _here_.”

“What does it do?” Keith asks, voice tight and clipped. Lance can see the tension in his shoulders and has the absurd urge to reach to him, touch him, reassure him. Which is... well one, _weird_ , but two, Lance is the one in danger.

Allura and Coran exchange another look, one that Lance doesn’t like one bit.

“What’s happening to Lance?” Keith snaps, voice rising.

“Keith,” Shiro’s voice is gentle but firm. Not so much a reprimand as a reminder.

Keith sighs and shifts, shoulders rising and falling as he juts out one hip. Even from this angle, slightly behind him, Lance can see the edges of his scowl.

Coran clears his throat for a moment before continuing, lifting his chin just a fraction, meeting Keith’s glare without flinching. “You see, it’s a bit like muscle memory. The universe recognizes Lance, because there _is_ a Lance that belongs in this time, but it’s not _this_ Lance.”

“You say that like it’s alive or something,” Hunk says warily, brows furrowing.

Coran’s eyes squint for a moment, lips twisting as he holds out a hand, making a vague gesture. “Space time is... complicated. To put it simply, Lance’s body is attempting to force itself to become the Lance that belongs here. It’s normally a slow progression, but it picks up speed quite quickly. What starts as simple bouts of brief symptoms will start to compound and compound, until his body will be trying to force him through a year’s worth of growth, exertion, and change in a matter of days. The intensity of which often proves to be...” He trails off, eyes flickering from Keith to Lance, weariness in those multifaceted depths.

“Fatal.” Allura finishes for him. She doesn’t sound like she wants to say it, but she does anyway. Shiro moves to her side, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. Some of the tension melts out of her as she leans into the touch, sending him a brief, grateful look before turning back tot he others. “This is the reason time travel was strictly banned on Altea. The consequences are too vast and too unpredictable and far, far too dangerous.”

A heavy silence hangs on the bridge, leaving them with nothing but the hum of energy throughout the castle. It’s deafening, and Lance can’t stand it. It makes his skin itch and crawl. “Alright, _cooool_.” He says, voice a fraction too high, but it adds a little life back to the silence. “Cool, cool, cool.” The others are looking at him, and he just nods, forcing a small smile to his face. “So just a little time travel syndrome. No biggie. Soon this chrono— chroma— cholo-whatever will be a thing of the past.”

“Chronolomia,” Coran offers.

“Chronolomia,” Lance repeats it, letting the R roll off his tongue. He tilts his head, lips twisting as he feels the word. “Sounds fancy.”

“Looks fancy, too.” Six pairs of eyes whirled around to look at her. She had her tablet in one hand, flipping through it with her fingers. Her expression is blank, eyes sharp and clear like they get when she’s concentrating, but there are lines around her pursed lips. “If by fancy you mean totally horrific and gory. Slasher films could learn a thing or two from this.”

“Gee, thanks Pidgey,” Lance deadpans.

“No problem. Wanna see?”

She barely has time to lift it up before Hunk is snatching it out of her hands.

“Hey!”

“Oooooh, nope! No, no!” He says, holding the tablet above his head and using his free hand to hold her at arms length, easily avoiding her clawing hands as she struggles to reach her device. “Seriously, even if Lance did wanna see that gross stuff, I don’t. That is a no gracias from me— _OW!_ ”

He jerks back his hand as Pidge bites his finger, shaking it violently to rid himself of the sting. He pouts at her, but she just smirks.

“Scrappy,” Lance says under his breath, small genuine smile hovering on his lips.

“Just like you.” He hears Keith says, and turns to catch his eye. He hasn’t moved closer, but that doesn’t stop Lance’s stomach from doing this weird little flip, heat crawling up the back of his neck. Keith is smiling at him, something small and private and amused. Lance shoots him a wicked grin and winks.

Keith blinks, eyes widening a fraction and smile falling instantly as his lips part. Before Lance has much time to dwell on it, Hunk’s voice draws his attention away.

“Man, I hope Lance— the _other_ Lance is okay.” And Lance hates hearing his best friend sound so small. He turns to find him, shoulders sagging, staring at the floor, eyes distant and glazed.

Pidge has her tablet back, and she’d flipping through it, finger movements sharp and precise. Her lips are pressed tight, and Lance can see her cheek suck in as if she’s biting on it from the inside.

He looks over the others, but none of them will make eye contact. None of them look at each other. They all stare off on their own, eyes distant and postures rigid. The air is heavy, tension thick enough to be choking. Lance can feel it pressing in on his chest, straining his lungs.

He knows what they’re all thinking but none of them dare to say aloud.

That future him has it worse.

That it’s getting bad because he’s done this time swap thing once already.

That the past machine isn’t working.

That they can’t make the swap right now.

That every second ticking by is another second slipping through his fingers. His time is running out, and they’re fresh out of ideas.

That he might never make it back to this timeline.

A shudder runs through him. Shakes through his entire body. Solidifying sickly and cold in his core. He might die. And yeah, it’s always been a possibility since they, you know, live in space and fight in an intergalactic war, but... they never _think_ about that when they’re fighting. They never think about it when they’re on the front lines, fighting for their lives.

Death is a constant possibility in their daily lives, but that doesn’t mean they dwell on it. Dwelling on it means to fear. Fear means to stagnate, to hesitate, to halt movement forward. And they always need to be moving forward.

Now, however, they’re all dwelling on it. He can see it in the shadows that haunt their eyes and the ghosts that hang heavy on their shoulders. He can see it in the way tension makes postures rigid, even as they slump. He can see it in the way their muscles tick, in the way they fight, in the way they send him quick glances that refuse to linger.

He can _feel_ it in the room. All consuming. Suffocating. Draining. It’s a deep melancholy, a misery, a helplessness so persistent that it drags them all down at once. The sight of stars outside the windows has always brought him a thrill and comfort, but now they seem to press in on them, threatening to crush them and send them spiraling into a void.

It’s toxic, it’s draining, and he hates seeing his team— his _friends_ — like this.

Dwelling on a worst case scenario isn’t gonna get them anywhere, so Lance thinks it’s about time they kick it into gear. And if no one else can manage to shake away the shadows in the room, he’ll do it himself.

So he does what he always does when he feels a fear so powerful it threatens to crush him, to sink in and turn him inside out: he pushes it away, buries it, and locks it away.

Not today. Not now. Possibly not ever.

Fuck you, worst case scenario.

“Alright, enough of that,” He says, pulling his hands out of his pocket to clap them together loudly. At least half of the group jumps, the others blinking out of their thoughts as they turn sharply to stare at him. He takes in their bewildered expressions with a grin gracing his lips, one that’s far more convincing than it had been only moments ago. “We’re done with the moping, and we’re done with the Lancey Lance pity party.”

“Lance—“ Hunk begins, cautious and reproachful, but Lance isn’t having any of it.

He slides up next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders and leaning into him. “Nu-buh-buh,” He says, putting a finger to Hunk’s lips. He goes cross-eyed to look at it. “If I know me, which, might I add, I do. Very well. I have very intimate knowledge of myself.”

“Gross,” Pidge deadpans, but there’s a lilting edge of amusement.

“Very. Now if I know me, then future me is handling this just fine. I’m a strong guy, and no chrono-whatever is gonna keep me down. And it sure as hell isn’t going to make me give up. So we’re not giving up on me, either, got it?”

His gaze sweeps the room, pinning each of them with a hard stare. Slowly, one by one, he sees the spark return to their eyes, smiles slowly starting to tug at their lips. The tension eases out of them, replaced by a newfound fire. He can see it in the way they hold themselves, taller, with more purpose.

By the time his eyes find Keith, he’s grinning, and he sees the ghost of a smile on Keith’s lips, face gone soft as he stares at him, head tilted so his hair falls across his forehead. He looks so open, so... proud? Fond? Satisfied? Goddamn _affectionate?_

There is far too much going on in his eyes, and Lance doesn’t know what to make of it. It makes heat stir up inside Lance’s chest as his heart gives an aching lurch, breath leaving his lungs in a rush. He looks away quickly, but he can feel Keith’s eyes on him.

“So instead of sitting here, twiddling our thumbs and discussing how I _might_ die, how about we twiddle our thumbs and discuss how we can help _prevent_ me from dying?” He says it so offhandedly that he gets a few breathy chuckles. It might just be friend the relief of tension slipping out of the room, but he’ll take it. Growing more confident, he stands a little straighter, still keeping an arm around Hunk, for both of their benefits. “So we know the time machine thingy is there in the past. What’re we gonna do about it?”

A heartbeat of silence passes. Silence and stillness. Like a bowstring pulled taunt, poised, breath held in anticipation.

And then it snaps.

“Well you— our version of you— said in his letter that it wasn’t functioning, but not that it was broken,” Pidge says, snatching her tablet out of Hunk’s hand as his arm lowered to his side. She’s already spinning on her heel, walking back toward her chair.

Hunk is already picking up where she left off. “So we can probably run on the assumption that the structure is still there—“

“So it’s probably only the inner workings that we have to be worried about.” Keith takes a step backwards, turning his body so he can follow Pidge’s movements with his eyes. Lance can already see the gears working, brows furrowing as his face scrunches up in thought.

He pays far too much attention to the way Keith’s nose wrinkles.

“Yup, and thankfully,” Pidge throws herself into her seat, screens lighting up in front of her. She taps on the keyboard rapid fire before making a sweeping motion. Across the room, Coran’s station beeps, and he strides over to it, opening up the file on the big holo screen. Pidge leans back in her chair, wicked smile on her face, the thrill of a challenge glinting in her eyes. “We have scans of a functioning machine, so we should be able to pin point what areas might be keeping it from working.”

“Good call, Pidge,” Shiro says, turning with Allura to cast his eyes up on the screen.

And then suddenly the whole room is in motion. Hunk moves to his chair, while Coran types away at his own station. Shiro and Allura stand on the center console, eyes on the large holo screen. And everyone is talking at once. They talk over each other, picking up thoughts before they can be finished, running with them until someone else plucks it out of their hands. The screen flashes, words he can’t read and diagrams that don’t make sense moving around at a speed far too fast for Lance to keep up.

He doesn’t understand most of what’s going on. Truthfully, he’s still trying to let everything settle in, to really get a grasp on everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours.

Finding Keith in the alcove. The heavy conversation. Waking up to him and— if he’s being honest— _liking_ it. Training. The vertigo. Finding out what the vertigo meant. Time travel sickness. Knowing he’s actively _dying_. Keith knowing Spanish.

It’s a lot, and it feels like whiplash. So while he feels a warm tingling of pride in his core at seeing his team’s spark renewed, energy channeled and ignited at the prospect of taking action, of making a difference, Lance is content to just stand back and... not think for a while.

Yeah, that sounds good.

Arms crossed over his chest, head feeling too heavy for his neck, he stands there, letting everything buzz around him, content that he ignited the spark but feeling fine to just let them burn on without him. He feels himself listing to the side, and then suddenly there’s something there. A warm, solid weight.

He tilts his head to find Keith there. His eyes are on the screen at the front of the bridge, brows pinched and lips twisted in his concentration. He doesn’t look like he’s paying attention to Lance at all, but he’s there. Pressed up against his side. A silent offer to help bear his weight hanging open in the air.

Lance sighs, grateful relief running through his veins like water, cooling and relaxing. He leans into Keith’s side, shoulder to shoulder, and side to side. Letting his mind wander freely as he tries to just let the events of the day settle. And slowly, so slowly, as he focuses in on the rise and fall of Keith’s chest and matching his breath to his, the buzz leaves his veins. The itch beneath his skin recedes. His chest doesn’t feel so tight.

And when his head falls to the side, resting on Keith’s shoulder, neither of them say anything.

 

 

* * *

 

Sleep doesn’t come easily that night. Too many thoughts. Too jumbled. Bouncing around in his head. Every little thing feels _wrong_. A random muscle twitch, or a symptom of chronolomia? Does he have a vague headache because he’s dehydrated or because of chronolomia? Is he dizzy because he turned too fast or is it chronolomia?

Just when he was starting to think he was settling into the future, everything gets turned upside down. A timer is set on him, and he swears he can feel every grain of sand through that hourglass grating against his skin.

He goes through the night routine that Keith had shown him, but even though his face feels _fantastic_ , it doesn’t relax him enough to let him sleep. His bed doesn’t feel _right_.

It’s too cold. His room is too quiet.

It pushes against him. Pressing in on all sides. Suffocating. Alienating. Too much. Too wrong. Not right.

With a huff, he gives up on trying. Slips right out of bed and begrudgingly pulls on his robe. The silk of it feels cool against skin that feels far too raw and far too sensitive. After slipping his feet into his slippers, he wraps a blanket around himself, just like the night before, and leaves his room.

He knows he’s going to the alcove before he even turns down the right hall. It just feels right, and his feel carry him there automatically. He’s too damn exhausted to fight it.

He’s not aware he was hoping Keith would be there until he finds the spot empty. His stomach drops, shoulders hunching further as he pulls the blanket tighter around him. With a sigh, he sits against the edge of the alcove, leaning against the window to stare out at the stars.

He’s not long how long he sits there before he hears the soft padding of bare feet.

Before the footsteps stop, and he can see Keith’s reflection in the window. He stands there, wrapped up in his own blanket. Lance can feel the eyes on him, but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

Temple still pressed to the window, he tilts his head, eyes rolling to look up at him. His hair is loose and messy, sticking up at odd angles. The blanket is pulled tight around him, chin tucked into it. Their eyes meet, and there’s a tired desperation there that tugs at his heart.

Without a word, Lance lifts an arm, opening up his blanket cocoon in a silent invitation. Keith only hesitates for a moment before his shoulders sag. With relief or defeat, Lance doesn’t know. He sits next to him, immediately curling into his side, legs pulled up and leaning against him, head resting on his shoulder. Lance drops his arm around his shoulders, covering them both in his blanket.

Keith is stiff for several moments, but as the seconds tick by, he slowly relaxes. Inch by inch, he sinks into Lance’s side. He feels the heavy sigh he heaves before he slumps, head subtly nudging its way beneath his chin. Lance lets him. Wraps his arm a little tighter to pull him in close.

His side burns where Keith’s warmth presses up against him. Burns and tingles and sends shivers down his spine. But... it’s comfortable. Infinitely more so than the feeling of his skin being too tight and ice in his veins. It’s a comfort, and one that he hadn’t realized he’d been craving.

But unfortunately, while it does calm his frazzled nerves and helps settle the anxious twisting in his gut, it doesn’t help him sleep.

He ends up sitting there, back to the corner, slouched with Keith pressed up against his side, long into the night. His gaze drifts away from the stars, to the hall of the castle, and finally rest on the Altean script carved onto the wall opposite the alcove.

He still can’t read it, but he stares at it anyway. Memorizes every line. Every curve. Stares at it until it forms a picture he can see when he closes his eyes.

Stares at it until he feels Keith’s breathing goes soft and even.

Stares at it as he rests his cheek atop Keith’s soft, messy hair.

Stares at it as his eyes grow heavy.

Dreams of it as he succumbs to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

They stay there all night, and he wakes with a crink in his neck, all of his joints stiff, and his muscles sore.

But seeing the disgruntled pout Keith sends him when he shoves him away in an attempt to stretch, half heartedly disguised by a weak glare, face framed by wild strands of hair full of static, still wrapped in a twisted blanket, makes it all worth it.

Not for the first time, he finds himself attaching the word _cute_ to Keith.

Definitely for the first time, he’s not entirely put off by the thought.

And that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

 

 

* * *

  

“I can’t believe you’re kicking me out,” Lance says, casting a look over his shoulder as he drags his feet, pushing his bottom lip out and giving his best sad eyes.

He can tell it’s effective by the way Hunk’s expression crumbles for just a second before he shakes his head. “No, nope, no puppy dog eyes, Lance. This is serious.” The hands on Lance’s shoulder push a little harder, and Lance leans back against them.

“But _Huuuunk_ —“

“No but’s. You know this is important, dude.”

“But I wanna say hi to Shay,” He whines, letting his head loll back.

Hunk’s brow furrows, lips pursing. “I know, man, but like... She doesn’t know about the swap thing, and it’ll be pretty obvious, and what if she lets out spoilers—“

“Spoilers like she’s your _girlfriend?_ ” Lance’s grin is positively shit eating. He can feel it curling at the edges of his lips as Hunk’s eyes widen, mouth falling open as his cheeks darken.

“Wha— _No!_ ” He sputters, and Lance laughs. “ _Laaaance_ ,” He whines, voice getting pitifully high. He shoves Lance forward toward the door of Yellow’s hanger. He stumbles a few steps, still laughing, before turning to see Hunk standing there, weight shifting from foot to foot. He’s frowning, but there’s worry in his eyes.

Lance’s smile softens as he straightens. “Yeah, yeah, spoilers, I know, dude.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, his tablet wedged under one arm. He leans his weight back, head rolling to the side. “But... future me— _your_ Lance— You talk to me about this kinda stuff, right?” He tries to shoot for casual.

Hunk sighs, entire body sagging with relief. His smile is positively blinding, a spark in his eyes that Lance knows very well. “Of course, dude.” He holds out a hand, fist extended. “Bros for life. Past, present, and future.”

A weight that he hadn’t been aware he had been carrying eases off his shoulders. “Bros for life,” He repeats, voice soft as he reaches out to bump Hunk’s fist. The look they exchange is without words, but one that speaks volumes. Then his grin curls back. “Have fun with your girlfriend!”

“Lance!”

He laughs as he spins on his heel, striding out into the hallway, Hunk’s sputters and protests cut off as the doors _woosh_ shut.

And... then he’s alone.

He doesn’t like to be alone.

His stomach already starts to twist, anxiety creeping unpleasant up his chest. Normal nervous weirdness or super deadly space time sickness? He shudders. He doesn’t like that thought, but it hovers in the back of his mind, making his question every single physical thing he feels. A paranoia that he’s doing his damnedest to keep at bay.

Paranoia won’t help him help his team. It won’t help him get back to his own time. But the paranoia only seems to dampen when he’s in the presence of others, when the eerily familiar but distinctly different walls of the castle ship aren’t pushing in on him, sucking up all his air and threatening to crush him beneath the weight of the vacuum of space—

He starts walking, pace brisk and determined.

Nope. Nope. Nope. Bad thoughts, go away, come again never.

He reaches a crossroads and glances toward the bridge, feeling his chest clench for just a moment. Just a moment with the fleeting but aching reminder that he doesn’t belong here. He’s been temporarily banned from the bridge while Allura and Coran make calls to their allies across the universe. _No spoilers_ , and all that. He gets it. He really does. But that doesn’t stop it from hurting.

Instead he turns toward the lounge. The doors slide open and he steps inside, immediately breathing a sigh of relief when he finds three of his teammates there.

Keith and Shiro sit next to each on the curving horseshoe of a couch. Shiro holds his tablet in front of him, idly tapping and scrolling at it with his other hand. Keith sits close by his side, holding his own tablet in his right hand, scrolling with his thumb, left arm resting out along the back of the couch, reaching into open space. Pidge lies on the couch to Shiro’s other side, head resting on his thigh, one knee bent, other ankle propped up against it, foot bounding in the air. She has her own tablet in one hand, tapping at it with quick, sure pecks with the fingers of her other hand.

All of them have expressions of stern concentration, brows pinched just slightly, eyes hard and focused. Shiro’s lips move slightly as he reads. Pidge’s entire expression changes by the second, going through an entire facial journey to reflect whatever she thinks about while she’s reading. Keith idly worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

They all briefly glance up as he enters before turning back to their tablets.

“Hey, Lance,” Shiro says, but it’s Keith’s gaze that lingers a second longer than the others.

“Hey,” He says and hesitates. Silence settles back over the room. They look comfortable in it, at ease in each other’s presence, sitting close despite all the space on the couch. It makes Lance feel like even more of an outlier. “Sooooo...” He pats his thigh with one hand, holding his own tablet at his side with the other. “How’s it going?”

Shiro’s lips purse, but he doesn’t look up. “It... could be better.”

“It fucking _sucks_.” Pidge says.

Shiro just nods. “That, too.”

“Gee, you’d think finding a super reclusive, super rare space creature who hops around the universe via wormhole would be easy to find.”

PIdge snorts. “You’d think if it’s so damn rare, people would notice if they saw it.”

“Maybe they just haven’t seen it.”

Pidge’s expression scrunches up at that, lip curling. “Then its camouflage must be great, because it _has_ to be out there.” Then, softer, almost to herself. “It has to be.”

“It is.” Keith says, with all the finality and firm conviction that comes with Keith making a decision. That, at least, is familiar. He doesn’t look up, but Lance can see the lines forming around his lips as he frowns. “We just have to find it.”

“Too bad Hunk can’t make a tracker for it. Like... locate its space signature or whatever.”

Shiro lifts his head, eyes distant and thoughtful as he gazes at nothing in particular. “Now that’s a thought...”

“Nope,” Pidge says. “Coran said its energy signature changes every time it wormholes. Getting enough dating to accurately pinpoint it would require us to see it several times and get decent readings each time.”

Shiro frowns. “Oh.” He looks back down at his tablet.

Silence falls again, and Lance sighs. Keith lifts his eyes at that, gazing up at Lance over his tablet, from beneath his lashes. His expression is blank and indifferent, but he cocks an eyebrow curiously. It’s a silent question if he’s ever seen one, but he doesn’t really have an answer for it. So he just shrugs, shifting his weight to his other foot, glancing away and around the room before his gaze comes back.

As soon as their eyes meet again, Keith tilts his head, jerking his chin in a subtle motion. The message is clear, but as if to accent it, he pats the back of the couch with his left hand.

Lance sighs again, this time with relief, shoulder sagging as he trudges across the room. He hadn’t been sure if it was alright to join them. Logically, yes, but... he’s not the Lance that belongs with them. He’s the right piece, but hasn’t been filed into the right shape yet. His edges don’t quite fit as smoothly as they should. He does his best to ignore it most of the time, but it’s a knowledge that he can’t quite shake.

Still, if Keith is _inviting_ him... who’s he to say no?

He steps down over the couch, feet touching the floor for only a moment before he’s flopping down onto the couch. He lies to Keith’s side, mimicking Pidge’s position without a second thought. It’s not until he’s lying there, head on Keith’s lap, one knee bent and the other dangling over the edge of the couch, that his mind seems to catch up to his actions.

Keith’s thigh is firm but soft beneath his head, warm even through his jeans. It stiffens beneath him, and Lance feels a trickling of panic. Perhaps this was too familiar? But no, they’ve slept cuddled together twice now, surely this is okay? Or maybe it’s not okay in front of others. Maybe he should sit up and avoid touching him altogether—

But then Keith’s left hand is moving, fingers dipping into his hair, gently carding through it, blunt nails scratching idly at his scalp. Lance’s eyes close, relaxing into the touch, humming softly as the panic ebbs out of him.

They stay like that for a while, each of them wrapped up in their own research.

After a long discussion about what parts the Ecnes time machine might need to be functional, the team came to the conclusion that Namthsurite would definitely be needed. According to the castle’s limited information on it in the databases, it was a mineral that only had a shelf life of a couple thousand years.

Given that Ecnes was abandoned several thousand years ago, odds of the Namthsurite in the machine still being functional were slim to none.

And, given that the mineral was extremely hard to find and they had very limited time to work with, they figured they could help by at least attempting to find some Namthsurite for themselves— their past selves.

Given that the mineral isn’t an organic compound, they determined that it should hold up just fine in the little time machine Pidge and Hunk had built. That is, _if_ they could find it.

Turns out, the mineral is a byproduct of a space creature called a Nomadthian Cornelia Womarque, used to keep the creature stable as it travels via self created wormholes. And as it turns out, finding an extremely rare creature who’s body creates an extremely rare mineral necessary for time travel is extremely difficult. Go figure.

So team Voltron has been pulling out all the stops. Everyone equipped with tablets that had access to the ship’s computers and databases, they’ve been in research mode all day. Allura and Coran have been spending their time calling allies across the universe, seeing if anyone had news or sightings of the creature. The others have been sending messages to allies as well, shuffling through the information that’s been transmitted to the ship by the fuck-ton.

Lance, in an effort to avoid _spoilers_ , has been on simple research duty. He’s job has been to search through all the existing files on the ship, looking for anything that Pidge, Hunk, and Coran might have missed in their first search while the others go through the newly supplied files.

The downsides to that is one, it didn’t take long for Lance to go through all the brief and unhelpful mentions of Namthsurite, and two, Lance is _really bad_ at focusing on stuff like this for too long.

He tries, but when he’s gone over the same paragraph ten times without absorbing a single goddamn word, he knows it’s time to quit. He’s not good at this fine combing research business.

So instead, he finds himself poking around elsewhere in the castle’s databases, eyelids drooping as Keith’s fingers continue to run through his hair.

The movements are familiar and offhanded, hesitating once in a while as he gets wrapped up in whatever he’s reading before picking back up again. He does it so nonchalantly, hitting all of the spots that send shivers down Lance’s spine, in the right patterns and speeds. Does it in a way that’s not only soothing, but grounding. Giving Lance something physical to latch onto so his mind can focus easier.

Lance wonders if he’s done this before, and more importantly, how often him and Keith have done shit like this in the past year.

The silence in the room doesn’t bother him so much now that he’s become apart of it. Less like a suffocating presence and more like a warm blanket, wrapping him up with his friends.

Then a high pitched beeping ring cuts through the room, startling all of them.

Pidge sits up straight, the beeping cutting off mid tone. “It’s Ma— aaammmyyyy _friend_.” She says, eyes flickering to Lance’s, wide with panic before shooting to Keith and Shiro. “My _friend_ , yeah. One of my friends. A call— from a friend.” She says waving her tablet around and scratching the back of her neck with her free hand, shooting Lance a grin that’s far too bright to be real.

He levels her with a flat look. “I’m just gonna pretend that you were totally subtle.”

Pidge slumps, air rushing out of her as her smile turns something more genuine. “Thanks.”

“Take your spoilers and go,” He says, rolling back over and lifting his tablet over his face. He’s ended up on the Altean alphabet, trying to make sense of the foreign and downright bizarre letters.

“Will do.” He hears Pidge twist onto her knees before clambering over the back of the couch. “Hey, Shiro, wanna come say hi? He’d probably like to see you.”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” The couch shifts as Shiro stands, turning to climb over the back after Pidge. “Do you think he’s still trying out the facial hair?”

“God, I hope not. It looks like a fuzzy worm on his lip. It’s down right pitiful next to Coran’s. We should totally draw mustaches on our fingers when we call him.”

“I’ll go one step further and let you paint one on my face.”

Pidge’s cackles cut off abruptly as the door shuts behind them, muted echoes disappearing down the hall.

And then he’s alone with Keith.

Again.

Not that it’s _weird_ to be alone with Keith. He totally _likes_ being alone with Keith. And if his heart picks up speed, and his face gets warm, and his hands get a little sweaty, well... that’s probably the time travel sickness. Totally.

It only takes a second before Keith’s fingers pick up their previous ministrations in his hair, and he hums lightly in appreciation.

“You know, I’m surprised you’re okay with all this.” He says after a long moment, still idly flipping through the Altean alphabet. Pidge has apparently programed English into the ships computer, but Lance is more curious about Altean at the moment. Geez, how many letters do they _have?_

Keith hums his question, and when Lance glances up at him, he finds that Keith is already watching him. Navy eyes wide and curious, hair falling around his face, slipping from a haphazard bun. Even at this angle he looks good. Why the fuck doesn’t Keith have a _bad_ angle?

He ignores the stupid little flip his heart does and looks back to his tablet, breathing through the heat itching at the back of his neck. “You know, sitting around reading? You’re Mr. Action Man, can’t sit still, gotta be _doing_ something at all times. You usually leave the research to Pidge and Hunk, and spend your time on the training deck or something.”

He’s expecting something defensive. Maybe a little huff. Maybe a pout and a grumble. Instead, he gets a soft breathy chuckle, and when he risks a glance, Keith is already looking back at his tablet, scrolling with his thumb. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, one that softens his entire expression and backlights his eyes.

And there goes Lance’s heart, doing those stupid little flips again.

“I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

“Me?”

Keith exhales sharply in a soft little huff of a laugh, corner of his lip curling. He doesn’t roll his eyes, but Lance gets the distinct impression of it anyway. “You were determined to teach me how to, how did you put it...” Then he lifts his chin, tilts his head to gaze down at Lance, adopting a smirk that is _shockingly_ accurate, even if the voice he slips into is not. “ _Get my chill on_.”

“Oh my god, I do _not_ sound like that.” He says sitting up and half turning to glare at him. It’s half hearted, and he can feel his smile poking through.

Keith’s arm returns to the back of the couch, a smirk playing at his lips. “You do.”

“Do not, but it seems like my chill lessons were good for you.”

Keith’s eyes drift downward, staring at nothing in particular in the space between them. “They were.” He says, softly, in that voice that is so unlike the Keith he knows that it sets off alarms in his head, makes his skin prickle with the unfamiliarity of it but makes his heart pound all the same. Especially when it’s aimed at _him_. Or future him. Whatever. “You’ve been very good for me.”

He says it like an after thought, like he doesn’t intend for it to actually slip out. His eyes unfocus, mind elsewhere, and Lance can’t stand it. Can’t stand it because there’s just _so much_ in that gaze that he doesn’t know. And it’s in times like this where he’s reminded that this is a _Keith_ he doesn’t know.

A Keith that’s softer around the edges. A Keith that’s just as deadly, but who smiles as often as he scowls. A Keith with a smirk that sends lightning shooting through his veins and a playful lilt to his voice rather than an annoyed jab. This is a Keith that’s so much like _his_ Keith, but so much... _more_. Or maybe he’s just able to see the more now. Like those doors that’ve been locked and bolted are now wide open.

It’s unnerving.

It’s exhilarating.

It makes him drawn to Keith. Makes him want to know more about him. Wants to watch the development from his hard, broody, loner Keith into this one. Into the one that smiles and jokes with his teammates. The one that curls into his side at night and plays with his hair when they’re sitting around.

It makes Lance want to know how much of this development was just from being exposed to the team for so long, and how much had to do with him specifically.

They’ve gotta be close. Everything points to them being close. Close enough that Keith wears his jacket when he misses him. Close enough that they’re okay cuddling for comfort. Close enough that casual contact is okay. That Keith knows his habits. That Keith just knows _him_.

It’s clear as day that in a years time, he and Keith have become really close friends.

And if they’re that close... Lance wonders how much of this annoying warm buzz he gets whenever Keith is around future him feels. If it’s still there, or if it’s faded into something more manageable. Cause with how he feels now, he can’t imagine it fading. Keith is like a drug. Addicting and exciting and inspiring.

He hates to admit it, given their history and given the animosity that he’s let fester between them, but he’d willingly follow Keith to the end of the universe, both to be by his side and to prove himself an equal.

And he doesn’t think that would change over the course of a year.

Lance huffs, settling into the back of the couch, kneels pulled up, and turned sideways so his back is to Keith. His side is pressing into Keith’s arm where it hovers on the couch, but neither of them move. Eventually, he leans back, using Keith as a prop, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Just tilts his head to rest his on top of Lance’s.

Lance ignores him, letting his attention to be caught up by familiar symbols in an attempt to just stop thinking about him.

He pulls up the list of Altean letters and numbers next to an empty text program, tip of his tongue pressing against his lip as he types. He knows the carving on the wall by his favorite alcove by heart. Maybe not what it _means_ , but he can see it in his head. Can pull it up like a picture. He does that, focusing on each symbol in succession, finding it on the list before typing the English equivalent, an excited buzz crackling across his skin.

When he’s finished, he stares at it, but it doesn’t make sense. Just a series of numbers and letters without any real rhyme or reason. He sighs through his nose, slumping back against Keith. He isn’t sure what he was expecting, but he was hoping for something he could at least understand.

With nothing better to do, he just stares at the symbols, humming them into a small melody as Keith’s fingers return to his hair.

 

 

* * *

 

Lance finds himself spending the rest of the day wandering the castle, bouncing between his teammates, unable to stay still for too long.

There’s a buzz beneath his skin, thoughts and shadows nipping at his heels, threatening to overtake him if he dares to dwell. So he keeps moving, keeps talking, checks up on his friends and listens to them ramble and vent about their research frustrations. And when they’re ready to get back to work, he moves on.

He spars with Allura on the training deck, deflecting and distracting her from making fervent apologies, teasing her and making an all around fool of himself until she stops looking at him with furrowed brows and a purse to her lips. Until she’s smiling once more.

He gets plenty of bruises for his efforts, because _damn_ she’s strong, but it’s worth it. And thanks to Keith’s pointers, he manages to get a few hits in himself.

He manages to convince Shiro to let him sit with him as he has a video call. Shiro only agrees if Lance sits off to the side where he can’t see the screen and plugs his ears the whole time. He does so, sitting across from Shiro so he can still see his face. He doesn’t know who he’s talking to, but Lance has never seen Shiro’s calm so completely cracked before. His lips twitch as he fights a frown. Eyes twitching. When he talks, there’s a distinct curtness about it, one that gives the clear impression that Shiro is barely keeping it together.

It’s hilarious, and Lance ends up making faces at him from behind the screen, making Shiro’s mask crack further, lips now fighting a smile along with a scowl. With his eyes glinting with amusement, Lance counts it as a win.

By the time his stomach starts rumbling, he finds Hunk. He’s deep into his own research and calculations, half formed ideas bouncing around as he mumbles to himself, but it doesn’t take much convincing to get him to take a break. Lance’s always been good at pulling Hunk away, and it’s nice to see that hasn’t changed.

Lance helps Hunk make dinner as best he can, but he ends up being more of a nuisance than anything. Hunk doesn’t seem to mind, though. He sits on the counter as Hunk works seamlessly with the alien machinery and ingredients, reminiscing and recounting stories from their youth, finding comfort and a bond in a past they actually share.

Convincing Pidge to take a break is a lot more difficult. He finds her in a room with a wide desk, covered with buttons and screens. In front of it is an open space, above which several holo screens hover. Pidge sits hunched in the tall-backed chair, eyes snapping around the screens as her fingers fly across the keyboard.

He brings her food because he knows she won’t eat unless prompted in this state. Even then, it takes a lot of prompting. He finally gets her to eat, sitting back and letting her ramble about her findings and frustrations and attempts at coding a tracker for a creature who has a mysterious energy signature. She talks with her mouth full, shoveling food in without really tasting it. He doesn’t mind. Just listens. Making commentary when needed.

When she’s done, she attempts to get back to work, but he pulls her away, bodily picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder when she protests. He tells her she has to play three rounds of games with him before getting back to work. She’s not convinced until he reminds her that sometimes taking a break away from something can help her come back to it with a fresh eye. And even then, she doesn’t fully give in until the title screen pops up and he’s handing her a controller.

Three games turn into five, which turns into ten. But the tension eases out of her shoulders and her eyes glint with excitement as she laughs when she beats him.

Lance doesn’t tell her that he let her win.

He even allows himself to get wrapped up in helping Coran clean up around the castle. He’s never been one for cleaning, but it keeps his hands busy, and he listens to Coran to avoid letting his thoughts wander. As Coran takes a much needed break from research and contacting allies, he regals Lance with stories from his adventures with Alfor. It’s fascinating, and he tells them all with such a flair that Lance finds himself getting sucked in.

By the time they’ve cleaned and organized the med bay, the training deck, and the storage rooms, there’s an ache in his shoulders, but it’s a good ache. When Allura calls Coran back to the bridge, he lays a hand on Lance’s shoulder as he passes, sending him a small smile, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he whispers a soft thank you.

He’s getting ready for bed, half way through his skin can routine, when he realizes he hasn’t seen Keith in a while.

And something about that creates an itch beneath his skin. One he can’t shake. He has a hunch that the red paladin won’t be going to bed any time soon, and that leaves his stomach and chest far too unsettled.

So when he’s done with his routine, he slips his feet into his slippers, wraps his robe over his pajamas, and heads out into the castle. Arms wrapped around himself, he shuffles through the halls. He tries Keith’s room first, but there’s no answer when he knocks on the door. He goes to the alcove next, but Keith isn’t there.

He pauses for just a moment at the carvings in the wall, letting his fingers run alone the shallow grooves in the metal wall, cold and rough against his fingertips. As he traces them, he recites the translation, remembering it in a soft little song he sings under his breath.

His next stop is the training deck, but the lack of clanging metal as he approaches is telling. He tries Red’s hanger, but it’s empty, save for the fierce but warm presence that nudges the edge of his mind, offering a solid comfort. Sparing a curious and wary glance at Red, he retreats.

He ends up finding Keith in the same spot he left him: on the couch in the lounge. There are heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes, posture and expression drooping as exhaustion hangs on him like a second skin. An empty plate sits next to him, and Lance feels a small spark of relief that he at least ate something.

With a long sigh, he moves into the room, stepping down onto the lower floor and not stopping until he’s right in front of Keith. He finally looks up, expression unchanging. Beneath the blanket of exhaustion, Lance can see something deeper. A sorrow that makes his chest squeeze. A swirling of pain and fear and worry that he’s not used to seeing from Keith. Not so plainly. Not so openly. Not so directed at him.

And as their eyes meet, it seems to compound, to thicken, to strengthen, to concentrate into something that Lance can see consuming Keith from the inside out. Something that makes the room melt away, makes him lose himself in the void of those dark eyes, falling weightless among the starless black night, lost and helpless and _aching_.

Without a word, he holds out a hand.

And without a word, Keith takes it.

Lance pulls him to his feet, taking the tablet from his hand and tossing it onto the couch. Keith opens his mouth to protest, but Lance shakes his head in one sharp gesture, holding his eyes steadily, steeling his expression. Keith sags, frown on his lips, pout in his eyes, but he comes willingly as Lance turns, leading Keith out of the room by his hand.

They walk through the castle halls silently, the air between them thick and tense, both of them far too wrapped up in their own thoughts to consider trying to diffuse the tension. Lance can only imagine what Keith is thinking, but he has his own shadows to worry about.

His budding feelings about Keith, for one. Feelings that have been locked away and buried for so long. Feelings that feel familiar enough that he wonders how long they’ve actually been there, starving and hidden from the light of day. They threaten to shed their shackles, so rise and swallow his heart whole. It’s a warm buzz beneath his skin, a lightness in his chest. It’s his heart threatening to lodge itself in his throat even as it sinks into his stomach. It’s in the way he’s far too aware whenever he touches Keith. Of his warmth. Of his smile. Of his attention.

Attention that... maybe he’s always wanted, but didn’t know how to get. Not when Keith was so far above him.

But now Keith isn’t above him. He’s here. At his side. Looking at him with pain in his eyes that make Lance want to reach out and wipe away the tears that look like they’re threatening to fall.

He’s on the edge of something. The edge of an abyss. Toeing the open air. Every breeze threatening to topple him over. Threatening to make him fall. And he holds his breath, holding himself back, holds his feet firm because he’s not sure he wants to fall. Not sure if he’s ready for it. _Scared_ of it.

He can feel it rising, but he firmly ignores it. Doesn’t want to give it a name. Doesn’t want to acknowledge that it’s there.

Still, he doesn’t hesitate before pulling Keith to his door. Doesn’t hesitate as he leads him inside. Doesn’t hesitate before kicking off his slippers and crawling into bed, scooting over and holding the blanket up in an open invitation.

It takes Keith only a moment to give in, even though the conflict on his face doesn’t dissipate. He crawls into bed after him, kicking off his shoes and jacket. He’s hesitant, keeping distance between them on the bed. They lay on their sides, facing each other in silence, expression obscuring into shadows as the lights dim.

“You better not sneak out of here as soon as I’m asleep,” Lance says, voice half muffled against the pillow, drowsy with sleep. His eyelids are already drooping. He can’t see the change in Keith’s expression, but he can feel it as she shifts on the bed. A small smile curls his lips, leaking into his voice. “That’s exactly what you were planning on doing, isn’t it?”

There’s an exhale that sounds suspiciously like a huff. “I can’t give up now.”

“It’s not giving up to take a break, Keith.” He says, amusement giving way to exasperation.

“I can’t— he needs me.” Fingers pick at the sheets between them. Keith sighs again, entire body sagging with it. “I can’t let him down.” He mumbles. “I need to get him back. I can’t sit here while he— if he— if _you_ —“

Lance can hear the way his throat tightens, the way his words crack, choking off with the roughness that proceeds tears. He can’t see it them, but he hates the sound of it anyway. Hates the thought of Keith crying. Especially if it’s over him.

He reaches out automatically, taking Keith’s hand in his, giving it a small squeeze. “Careful, Keith,” He says, voice soft with exhaustion but light as he attempts to dispel the thickness in the air. “I might start to think you care about me.”

Keith’s hand turns over, fingers stretching until they’ve fitting themselves between Lance’s. He marvels at how well they fit.

“I do.” He says, voice barely above a whisper. It sounds like a confession. It sounds defeated. It sounds like he’s on the cusp of sleep. “You... everyone... you’re my family. I can’t... I won’t lose you. All of you. You’re… my home.”

A sniffle in the darkness. A clench of his fingers. A hitch in his breathing.

Lance tugs at his hand until Keith scoots over, guides him until he’s nuzzled into his side and Lance lies on his back, staring up at the dark of his ceiling. He runs his fingers through Keith’s hair, softly humming beneath his breath until he feels Keith’s body relax against him, breaths evening out.

It takes him a moment to realize he’s humming the little song he made to memorize the sequence of Altean symbols carved into the wall across from his little alcove.

He continues to hum it, over and over, to keep the thoughts at bay. To keep from falling. Until his eyes close and sleep takes him.

 

 

* * *

 

Lance leans onto the arm of his chair with an elbow, glancing around the bridge, feeling far more anxious than the situation warrants. But that seems to have become his natural state these days.

Hunk fiddles with the crude little time travel machine while Pidge sits at her chair, legs crossed, hunched over the keyboard as she types furiously, eyes intent and tongue sticking out. Coran and Allura stand at the front console, a series of windows and charts and maps pulled up on the large holo screens. Shiro and Keith stand nearby, discussing something under their breath, arms crossed over their chests, heads bowed together.

They’re close enough that Lance can hear their voices, but they speak low enough that he can’t make out their words. He knows the only reason they’re so close to his chair to begin with is because Keith has been hovering, constantly sending him worried glances, eyes sweeping over him like he expects Lance to keel over at any moment.

He swears he can’t make a simple sound without catching Keith’s attention. It would be flattering if it wasn’t so completely overbearing.

He stretches out across his chair, elbow on one arm and knee propped on the other, fingers idly tapping his thigh as he leans his chin against his palm. His eyes linger on the screens Coran is flipping through while he idly listens to Pidge and Hunk talk about their machine.

“Is it working again?”

“Uh, looks like it. But I suppose we won’t know until we try it.” Hunk says, pressing a few buttons and wincing as the machine whirls to life. “I dunno how many more uses it has, though. It’s a lot more fragile than we anticipated.”

“Well, we didn’t exactly have time to find sturdier materials. According to the scans we took on Ecnes, the metal they used is denser than most things we keep around the castle, but it’s also extremely flexible on an atomic level, and can withstand an insane amount of energy and pressure. I have no idea where they got it.”

“Probably native to Ecnes or something.”

“Probably. Rest in pieces, Ecnes.”

“Do you think these scans will be useful to them?”

“Hunk, they’re _us_. If _we_ had scans of a currently non functional machine and could compare it to the scans from the same machine while functional, could we find a way to fix it?”

“Point taken. I just hope they— we— can do it time. Before— you know.”

“Yeah. Same.” Her voice darkens, frustration leaking into her tone. “I just wish we had some kind of clue about the namthsurite to send them.”

“There’s still a chance we’ll find something out later.”

“I know, but we don’t know how many times we can use this device to send shit back. And we can’t postpone sending these scans any longer. They’re gonna need it asap.”

Lance feels his lips press tighter, frown curling at the edges of his mouth. His stomach felt twisted in knots, anxiety running like a fever beneath his skin, hot and cold. The tapping on his thigh gets louder as it turns into full on slaps. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Keith turn to look at him, but he ignores him, keeping his eyes on the holo screens.

There’s several maps of several galaxies pulled up as Allura and Coran discuss the different areas where they’e heard the Womarque has been seen. He knows they’re trying to figure out a pattern, but judging from their frowns, he doesn’t think they’re very successful. His gaze drifts to the side, where there’s a list—

He sits up straight, hands coming down on the arms of his chair.

“Lance?”

His eyes snap to the side to find Keith staring at him, concern furrowing his brow. Shiro looks at him, too, more curious than anything. Lance pushes himself to his feet, taking several steps toward the front of the room. “What’re those?” He asks, pointing to the list on the right side screen of the front holo display.

It’s a bulleted list, and each line is a sequence of Altean symbols. The symbols themselves aren’t familiar, but the pattern to them, the sequence of symbols and breaks, tugs at the edges of his mind. A piece of the puzzle nudging slowly towards it’s slot. An idea fighting to form, edges blurry but taking shape.

Keith and Shiro look to the front of the room. “Those are coordinates.” Shiro says. “Specifically, the coordinates of the places where there’s been a Womarque sighting—“

“Coordinates!” Lance gasps, mouth hanging open.

“Lance?” This time Keith’s question is softer.

Lance turns to him, blinks as his mouth closes. The piece falls into place, idea taking shape in his mind. “I think I have an idea?” The words come slowly, forming in a hesitant question.

It makes no sense, and he _knows_ it makes no sense, but... he can’t shake it. Once the idea forms, it settles in. Latches on. Won’t let go. It’s an energy crackling across his skin, and he needs to let it out. Needs to roll with it.

“You have an idea?” This time it’s Allura who speaks, and suddenly everyone’s eyes are on him.

He shifts under the attention, bitting at his lip for a second before he shakes himself, standing up a little straighter, lifting his chin. He sets his jaw, make solid eye contact with Allura. “I... I think I have an idea. I have coordinates, and I think we should check it out.”

Silence ticks by, everyone looking between the two of them. Allura seems to size him up, eyes searching his face. Something sparks in her eyes. Not a defiance, but a flare of acceptance. A spark of hope and promise. She nods sharply. “Okay, Coran,” She turns to him. “Enter the coordinates and prepare to wormhole.”

Lance just stands there, confusion making him unsteady as the air rushes out of him. He had been prepared to defend his gut feeling. Prepared to pull out all the stops in an attempt to get them to understand that he just has a really strong _feeling_. But they just... go with it. No questions asked.

It leaves him feeling off balance and slightly giddy. He turns to Keith, seeking some kind of explanation. Keith just smiles before giving him a small nod. Lance feels his own smile rise, stomach feeling bubbly. When Coran asks for the coordinates, Lance rambles them off, unable to help the little song in his voice and the rhythm he’d created to memorize the sequence.

“Where’d you get these coordinates?” Allura asks, brow furrowing as she stares at the screen.

Lance just shrugs. “Saw them around the castle. Didn’t know they were coordinates until now cause, you know, Altean.”

“Are you sure it’ll be helpful?” Pidge asks, raising a brow. It’s not a question that judges his idea, but rather one of open curiosity.

Lance shoves his hands in his pockets. “No idea. But I just... have a feeling.”

Shiro nods, small smile on his lips. “Well, trusting Lance’s gut has never really steered us wrong before. I say we at least give it a shot.”

“Any idea is better than none.” Hunk says, moving to take his seat.

As the pillars rise and Allura rests her palms on the glowing orbs, a shiver runs through Lance as the wormhole opens up. Anticipation makes his stomach clench as the ship flies straight for it, chest tightening and breath catching in his throat as they jump—

And then nothing.

They find themselves floating in another pocket of space, almost identical to the space they had just left. If Lance didn’t know any better, he could have sworn they hadn’t moved at all.

He frowns, turning to look out all of the bridge’s windows. “I don’t...” He can see the others doing the same, squinting out into the nothingness for a speck of _something_. Anything. “I don’t get it...”

“Tough luck, buddy.” Hunk says, not unkindly. “It was worth a shot. What were you hoping was here?”

“I don’t... I don’t know. I just...” One hand rests on his hip as the other runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands while he looks out the window, staring at the distant stars as he frowns. “I just... had this wild idea that the coordinates were important. Or helpful. Or... _something_ , I dunno. I can’t explain it.”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting. A giant wormhole jumping space creature to just _be_ here waiting for them? He wants to say no, but...

Even faced with the nothingness of quiet space around them, he can’t shake the _feeling_. His gut twists, mind frantic and hazy. It’s not logical. He knows it’s not. It’s a matter of instinct. And he’s _trying_ to listen to his instincts, but they’re not making any sense. They’re telling him that those coordinates are important, carved somewhere that he’d be, would stare at, would memorize.

He can’t shake the feeling that he needs to be _here_ , but there’s nothing here... at least not yet. Or maybe... they’re too late.

His head whips around. “Pidge!”

Pidge straightens, eyes widening in surprise. “What?” She asks, fingers freezing over her keyboard.

He licks his lips, brows furrowing as he tries to voice the thought that barely makes sense to himself. “I know this sounds a little weird, but... can we send these coordinates to the past? Like to ourselves? With the scans.”

She blinks, eyes going blank and unfocused as the gears turn in her mind, wading through connections until she figures out what Lance is hinting at. “How do you know if...?”

All he can do is shrug, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Pidge. I just... I have no idea. Gut feeling?”

Her brows furrow, lips pursed, but she nods thoughtfully. Finally, she quirks a small smile. “Gut feeling it is then.” And with a small nod, she starts typing. “Do you want me to add any note to the coordinates?”

He shakes his head, a small smile touching his lips. “Just tell them the coordinates are on the wall. In Altean. I’ll know what I means.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Have a little faith in—“ He cuts off, voice dying in his throat as his lungs squeeze harshly, shooting prickling pain throughout his back. His entire body tenses for a moment before it goes boneless, vertigo detaching his mind from body, making everything sway and time shift oddly. His vision blurs, and suddenly he’s pressed up against something warm and solid.

“—ance? _Lance?_ ” Keith’s voice breaks through as the ringing in his ears fade.

He tilts his head back, vision wavering before he’s able to focus on Keith’s face, staring down at him, brows knit in concern, pouty lips pursed. As his mind drifts back, tight clench of pain receding as if it had never been, he realizes that he’s leaning heavily against Keith. The arm around his waist is firm and sturdy.

Shiro is at their side, hovering next to Keith, eyes searching his face over Keith’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

He forces a smile, but when he speaks, his tongue feels thick, making his words slur. “No problem, just a little dizziness.”

“Oh dear...” He can hear Allura’s voice across the room. “Coran, do you think…?”

“No, he still has another movement or two before things get dangerous.”

“Lance? Buddy?” He can hear Hunk hovering nearby, but can’t see him.

“Don’t crowd him,” Pidge says, but there’s an edge of concern making her words sharp.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m okay.” He says, moving his weight to his own feet and leaning away from Keith. The arm stays around his waist, and Keith doesn’t move away. Lance doesn’t push it. “See? All good. Now let’s send that second space USB pronto, yeah?”

The looks they give him aren’t very convince, and they linger longer than necessary, worry creasing their brows, but they eventually move away, shifting back to their stations.

Keith stays, and Lance finds he doesn’t mind.

“Thanks for the catch, dude.” He says, reaching up to pat Keith’s chest. It’s a friendly gesture, one that lets Keith know that it’s okay to let go and step back, that he’ll be fine. But his hand lingers as Keith continues to stare, eyes searching his in a way that makes him feel far too exposed.

Then his fingers catch something odd— a shape beneath his shirt, resting just on his sternum. His brow creases, fingers pressing to it, feeling out the shape. “What’re you wearing?”

“What?” Keith blinks, surprise replacing his worry as he looks down.

A smile begins to tilt his lips. “Is this the mysterious necklace you’ve been playing with lately—“ And then the smile falls as he recognizes the shape. “Is this a ring?”

Keith’s eyes snap to his, wide and shocked, face going blank and far too pale. His lips move like he’s trying to form words but can’t find his voice.

Lance tries on a teasing smirk, but it feels far too forced, and his voice sounds just a hair too strained. “What? Did someone propose to you in the future, mullet?”

It’s a joke. He means it as a joke. He doesn’t mean it seriously. Doesn’t think it’s an actual possibility. Doesn’t think—

But then Keith’s face is flushing, brows coming together as his eyes widen just a fraction more. He pulls back from Lance, just an inch or two, but it feels like miles. His hand slaps to his chest, curling protectively around the ring, gathering up his shirt in the process. “ _No_.” But he says it too quickly.

Lance can see the truth of it in his eyes.

Keith has someone.

Keith is with someone.

Keith has a ring.

Despite the smile that feels frozen on his face, an ugly knot forms in his gut, twisted and nauseating. He tastes bile on his tongue, finds it hard to breath. That warm budding that’s been building in his chest, a feeling that’s been locked so far away for so long, feels snuffed out, suffocated.

And when he feels like the floor is crumbling beneath his feet, leaving him in a sickening free fall, air punched from his lungs, head spinning and heart pounding, he blames the chronolomia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate that I have to say this again, but please, please DO NOT send us update asks or comments. We do not like them. They're draining and irritating. These fics WILL NOT be abandoned. Bo and I are both very dedicated to seeing this story through to the end. We are, however, both very busy. If you follow me and my other works, you know that I have a lot of projects. SUADWM just finished, and I had been focusing a lot on that to get it finished. Meanwhile Bo has been juggling several jobs in two cities and working on her own goals. These fics don't update quickly, but they will continue to be updated. You can see the "Currently Working On" section in my tumblr blog description to see what will be updating next. 
> 
> Also please check out our social media pages for opportunities to support us and gain access to additional content!
> 
>  
> 
> ["Ghost of the Future"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/31641354)  
> [My Tumblr](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Bo's Main Tumblr](http://www.zizzani.tumblr.com), [Bo's Art Tumblr](http://dreamwips.tumblr.com/), and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/anna_bohac)  
> 


	8. Flow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tormented and caught between thoughts of what might happen and what will never be, Lance finds he's more conflicted than ever. When the team finds the possibility of Ecarians still alive and living in hiding, they set a course for planet Drugotha. It's a race against time, a race for answers, and Lance finds the chronolomia isn't the only thing making his own heart race.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see! Bo and I have been super busy these past few months, but we finally found time to carve away at these fics again. 
> 
> This is the longest chapter to date. We set out with the goal of making these chapters around 10k words, but that slowly got out of control. This chapter had a lot of development, world building, and plot advancement that needed to happen before the next chapter, so it got a little away from me. So enjoy this 25k word chapter. It probably won't happen again.
> 
> With the release of another season, I feel the need to state that these fics are in a canon divergent universe. We started this after season two, and it's unrealistic for us to change things to fit new canon. We'll be rolling with our original plans for these stories. ((that being said, Bo and I are fuckin _dying_ over all the details that we predicted.))
> 
> Happy reading!

Self-awareness is a bitch.

Just reaching a point where he recognizes his feelings for what they are, gets all giddy with it, and has less than twenty-four hours to enjoy it before getting wholly shut down? Yeah, that’s a bitch. It’s a bitch because now that he _knows_ , he can’t go back to _not_ knowing. Now he knows. Now he’s aware. He _knows_ he has growing feelings for Keith. Feelings that’ve been deeply seeded for so long but unable to sprout, and now that they’ve gotten a taste of sunlight, they’re getting stronger.

He really wishes those seeds had never been allowed to grow in the first place.

But it’s not just emotional self-awareness that’s a bitch. Oh no. It’s the way his body feels like it’s on _fire_ whenever Keith touches him. Every point of contact is a live wire, shooting electricity into his veins, making his skin all tingly.

Every time Keith brushes against him. Grabs his shoulder. Tugs him along by his wrist. Fingers brush. Sits close enough that Lance can feel his body heat radiating off of him. Lance’s heart rate skyrockets, stomach twisting in knots. Worried Keith will move away. Worried he’ll stay. It’s confusing, and it’s a mess, and despite all the gut churning anxiety, he can’t shake the giddy happiness that coils through him at Keith’s nearness.

It’s incredibly frustrating, and it was a lot easier to deal with when the butterflies in his chest were still little caterpillars refusing to pupate.

Here lies Lance McClain, former blue paladin of Voltron. Son. Friend. Solider. Hero. Ripped inside out by his own fucking _feelings_ because of a cute boy he’s not allowed to have.

And that... that right there is the problem, isn’t it? Self-awareness is a bitch because now that he _knows_ how he feels, it just hurts worse. Hurts because despite now knowing what he wants, he also knows he’ll never have it.

Not in his present and not in his future.

Oh god, he’s not sure how the hell he’s going to face Keith once he gets back in his own time. The Keith with all the hard edges and the sharp glares. The Keith with all his walls and defenses going strong. The Keith that rarely smiles at him. The Keith that isn’t this soft and vulnerable. The Keith that seems even more out of reach.

He finds comfort in knowing that they’ll one day get to this point, but that’s still a bittersweet comfort when he takes into account that they’ll never be where he wants them to be.

It shouldn’t be that much of a surprise. Not really. It’s not anything new. Keith has always been out of his reach. Always one step ahead of him. Always beyond him. Hence the lock box on his feelings. Too bad once you take anything out of its box, it never quite fits the same way again. Feelings are no different, but they’re a lot harder to put away.

He wonders if this is how Pandora felt.

It’s early. He can tell by the lighting in his room. Earlier than he would normally get up, but not too early that it would be strange if he did.

He might as well get up. He hasn’t been able to sleep much at all anyway, and he doubts he’d be able to go back to sleep now. Too many thoughts, and none of them good.

Thinking about Keith, analyzing everything about every interaction they’ve ever had, all the way back to flight school. Realizing all the things he’s repressed. Regrets. So many regrets that are hard to keep down in the early hours of the morning. Doubts. So many doubts that claw at him from the shadows of his room, gnashing with gnarled teeth. Wondering. Wondering who Keith is with. What are they like. How different they are from him.

And that’s just the surface of his latest bout of insomnia.

Mix into the emotional chaos the fact that every itch, every spasming muscle, every discomfort no matter how small, is suddenly blown up, analyzed, and questioned. Paranoia or chronolomia? Restless or dying?

It doesn’t help that he’s been spoiled. He’s gotten used to sleeping alongside Keith. Nights stolen in the alcove. Nights spent comforting each other in his bed to chase the nightmares away. He’d gotten used to it quickly. Keith makes him feel _safe_ , and it’s easier to ignore the irregularities in his own heartbeat when he has Keith’s to listen to.

With how clingy Keith has been since they found out about the chronolomia, he has a feeling Keith would share his bed again if he asked. Which is dangerous. Because Lance really, _really_ shouldn’t ask. But he also really, _really_ wants to.

So Lance lays there, staring at his ceiling in the dimness of the early morning ship light. Lays there, attempting and failing to process everything. It’s been a day since he found out about Keith’s ring, a day since they sent the information to the past, a day of them figuring out their next step, and his nerves still refuse to settle. He’s still reeling, and everything still feels so raw. Raw and vulnerable and exposed.

It’s only when his chest starts to ache that he rolls himself out of bed with about as much grace as a beached whale. Climbing to his feet with a groan, he drags his feet to the bathroom, one hand pressed to his chest. He wants to blame the painful irregularities in his heartbeat on the chronolomia, but at this point, he’s not so sure.

He’s also not sure which one he’d prefer.

Bare feet on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly and shaking out his limbs as he exhales. Right. No time to dwell on things. Getting home is his number one priority. Getting _himself_ back _here_. He can worry about the whole Keith thing when the whole timelines thing is straightened out.

Frustrated, tired, and altogether drained, he avoids his reflection and steps into the shower, determined to drown out his thoughts. He gets his mind off of things by singing, letting his voice be muffled by the sound of the spray. A mix of several songs, blending one into the next with little warning, Spanish and English.

It makes him feel better, even by just a small margin. Drags him out of his downward spiral and anchors himself in melodies that remind him of home.

He stays there until his skin is pink, pruned, and he’s feeling lightheaded from the steam.

He takes some solace in his morning routine. It’s different from the one he’s used to, but the motions are familiar. He washes his face. Scrubs it. Moisturizes. And by the end of it, he’s feeling a little bit more himself.

Hands on the counter, he leans forward, looking at himself critically in the mirror. Eyes narrowed, he lets his gaze sweep out across the lines of his face. It’s so familiar, and at first glance, he would say nothing has changed. But... he can’t help this paranoia that’s taken root. This place— this _time_ — is trying to force him through a year of growth.

Logically, a year isn’t that long. He’s not sure he’d be able to see that much of a difference in a year. But then he thinks back to his team, thinks about how much a year in space at war has changed them physically. Subtle, but definable. Looking at himself, he wonders what he looks like. How much has his body grown out? Are his muscles more defined as the others’ are? How has his face changed, if at all? Is it sharper? Rounder? Gaunt? What does he look like? What does Keith see?

His fingers trail along the lines of his face, trying to imagine a year’s worth of age defining his features just enough to be noticeable. He likes to think he’s even more handsome. Just like his regular self, but more... grown up?

He wonders if he’d even notice the changes happening. If they’ll happen slowly at all or if they’ll hit him all at once.

His fingers linger at his cheekbone. His skin feels strange there. Not to his fingertips, but beneath the surface. A distant tingling. An itch. The kind that’s not immediate or sharp, but something deeper and duller. A vague burn. Like his skin is being stretched and doesn’t fit right.

He frowns, fingers trailing down to his jaw, following the line of it over the bone and to his throat. It’s not radiating or spreading. Fairly localized in a stripe down his face. His nails lightly scratch at the skin, but the feeling doesn’t fade. He rubs at it, rough and vigorous, slapping his other hand over his other cheek to do the same. Until his skin is pink and tingling.

And then the feeling fades, leaving Lance to question whether it was actually there to begin with or just a figment of his imagination.

Paranoia or chronolomia? He’s starting to seriously hate this game.

When he’s finally dressed, feeling a little more sturdy, head a little more clear, he takes a deep steading breath before stepping out into the hallway.

And while he’s not at all surprised to find Keith there waiting for him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes drooping and locked on the floor, a white hot thrill runs through him anyway. Piercing through his chest and settling somewhere deep and aching while a warm liquid heat spreads through his veins. Leaving his fingertips tingling and his skin buzzing.

Keith doesn’t look up when the doors slide open. His eyes are half lidded, and his gaze is vacant. Lance steps closer, hands in his pockets as he leans down, trying to get a good look at his face. “Keith?”

He starts. Entire body giving a minute jerk as his head snaps up. Eyes wide and wild before they recognize him, focus on him, and settle into something softer. His hair is a mess, and there are bags under his eyes that can rival Lance’s.

“Hey, buddy,” He says as he straightens, easily adopting a casual smirk. “You don’t have to wait here every morning. I’m perfectly capable of getting up on my own.”

The pinch in his brow is small. Lips pursing into the barest of frowns. “I know that. I was just—“

“Making sure I don’t keel over when no one’s around to watch me?”

“No.” The answer is quick and just a hair too sharp. Lance just stares at him, unimpressed, one eyebrow raised. Keith sighs, pushing off the wall. “Whatever. Come on, Allura wants to make the call to Drugotha as soon as possible, and Shiro thinks it’ll look better if we’re all there.”

Keith starts off down the hall, and Lance falls into step beside him. It’s easy and natural, and when their arms brush as they walk, it unfairly makes warmth settle in his stomach. He should move away. Resist temptation and all that. Save himself or whatever. But he doesn’t.

“Still having nightmares?” He asks into the silence, voice casual but brimming with gentle subtext and honest concern.

Keith doesn’t answer, and the silence stretches as they walk toward the bridge. There’s a tension in his shoulders though, and a tick in his jaw that tells Lance that he’s thinking. Finally he sighs, running his fingers through messy hair before dragging his hand down his face. “This whole thing is a nightmare...”

“It won’t last forever,” He says, leaning over to bump his shoulder against Keith’s. It’s as playful as it is comforting. “We’ll get the Lancey Lance swaperoo switched back, and when we wake up the next morning, this’ll all feel like a dream.” A strange pit settles in his stomach, small but writhing. He doesn’t want to forget, but he knows he will. Mostly. Somewhat. And that’s... kind of sad. But he keeps his tone light because Keith needs this comfort. _He_ needs this comfort. And saying it aloud makes it feel more true. “I’ll be back in the past picking on your mullet, and future me will be back here being a pain in your ass.”

He was hoping for a smile. Maybe a soft chuckle. What he isn’t expecting is Keith’s sudden and bubbling laugh, bursting and sputtering out of him with enough force that it sounds like he’s choking on it. He has to stop, bending over with the force of it, one hand on his knee and the other wrapped around his stomach. He laughs loud and clear, deep and uncontrollable. Eyes closed and nose crinkled.

The sound of it echoes along the halls and rings in Lance’s ears. His heart gives a painful squeeze, stuttering in a way that should probably be concerning. But he’s never heard Keith laugh like this, and it’s fucking beautiful.

He’s storing that memory away, and he really hopes he doesn’t forget it.

He stops walking, half turned to watch as Keith attempts and fails to regain his composure. He doesn’t really know what’s so funny, but he doesn’t really care. He’s grinning anyway.

When Keith has finally recovered enough to keep walking, they continue down the hall. A wild grin still adorns his features, lifting his cheeks and crinkling his eyes with amusement. He stares straight ahead, but his gaze is distant.

“It’s good to see you smiling again.” He’s not sure if he means to say it, but it slips out nonetheless.

Keith looks at him with surprise, and his grin lessens somewhat. But while it settles into something smaller, it’s no less genuine. He leans into Lance’s space, bumping their shoulders together. “You, too.”

 

* * *

 

“Thank you,” It’s not said as a sigh, but it’s a clear exhale, a rush from her lungs. Her shoulders relax with it, making her look a lot less tense and far more amiable. “We’ll be down as soon as the sandstorm subsides.”

The alien on the screen nods. They look fairly humanoid, but their skin is a burnt orange, and there are darker orange scales that dot along their cheek bones and jaw line, crawling down what he can see of their exposed neck. Their hair is shaved on one side, exposing dark tattoos. The rest of it, the same shade as their scales, falls in a thick braid over one shoulder. Their nose is wide and flat, peek of it nearly nonexistent. Their irises wide and glitter like gemstones, taking up most of their eyes, with a vertical slit pupil. When they blink, it’s out of sync, but that’s the only real disturbing thing about them.

“Of course,” Their voice is deep and rough, sliding across the hissed syllables, but it’s not unpleasant. “We will prepare for your arrival. The royal landing strip will be available as soon as the skies are clear.”

“Thank you,” Shiro says at Allura’s side. The smile on his lips is relieved, but there’s still tension around his eyes. “We appreciate you making accommodations for us so suddenly.”

The alien’s thin lips curled upward, and they gave a humble bow. “It’s the least we can do for the paladins of Voltron. We owe you much after what you have done for us. Now I must make preparations. We will see you after the storm, paladins.”

The screen cuts out, the whole hologram disappearing, and this time Allura does sigh. Shiro reaches out automatically, putting a hand on her shoulder and sliding it across to rub at her back. She leans into the touch, back arching like a cat. “At least they’re willing to meet with us on such short notice.” He says, smile a little softer and a little more genuine as he lets blunt nails scratch along her spine.

“The sandstorm is an inconvenience though.” She mumbles, looking out the window to the planet before them.

Lance leans into Hunk’s side, arms loosely crossed over his chest. “Is it just me, or do they kinda look like lizard people?”

Hunk leans back, and his weight is warm and familiar as he whispers, “They totally look like lizard people.”

“Not really what I expected from a planet of drug goths.”

Hunk snorts, and he hears an exasperated, “ _Oh my god,_ ” From the direction of Pidge’s chair. “I swear I’m having deja vu.”

“Does it count as deja vu if he said the same thing last time we were here?” Hunk asks.

Lance shifts his weight away from Hunk to his other hip, lifting a hand to idly rub at his chin. “Am I saying it for the first time _now_ because I’m technically younger than I was before, or did other me say it first because he said it the first time you came to this planet?”

There’s a long silence, and when he looks around, he can see a variety of curled lips and furrowed brows, ranging all over the spectrum of perplexed to disgruntled.

“This feels like an unsolvable riddle.” Pidge finally says, and Hunk groans.

“Man, I _hate_ time travel.”

“Perhaps that is a question we can ask the Ecarians, should we manage to find them.” Coran says, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back against his console, one hand stroking his mustache thoughtfully.

Allura frowns. “We have much more important questions to ask them.” She straightens then, turning to look at Lance. “In any case, it’s _Drugotha_.”

“That’s what I said. Drug goths.”

Her eyes narrow a fraction. “ _Drugotha_.”

The corners of his lips twitch. “Drug-goth-a.”

_”Drugotha.”_

“ _Drew-go-tha_.” He says it right this time, drawing it out far more than necessary.

She rolls her eyes, but he can tell she’s hiding a smile. Shiro doesn’t bother trying to hide his, and when Allura catches it, she lightly smacks his arm.

Lance grins, and his gaze trails to the side, catching Keith’s. He doesn’t stand that far away, which isn’t surprising at this point. Keith has been hovering for the last few days. Ever since they learned of the chronolomia. He wants to say it’s annoying, but... well, there’s a part of him that not-so-secretly enjoys being the center of Keith’s attention. It’s a part of him that’s greedy and selfish, but it’s a part of him that’s growing.

When he catches his eyes, Keith smiles. Small. Just at the corners of his lips. But it’s enough to make Lance’s heart do this stupid flip flop.

“So, uh, I have a question?” Everyone turns then to look at Hunk, who has two hands in front of him, fingers intertwined and twisting. “Why didn’t we ask them about the Ecnes refugees just now? You know, save us the trip to the planet if they aren’t actually there?”

“Because if the refugees really did land here, and there hasn’t been any records of them for thousands of years, either they’re a big secret or the people here don’t know about them either.” Shiro says, brow furrowing as he glances out the windows at the planet.

“Exactly, number one,” Coran says, gesturing with one hand. “There are far too many variables at this time.”

“And if they _are_ a big secret,” Allura adds, “Then we don’t want to risk the drugonans turning us away before we have a chance to plead our case.”

“And we don’t want anyone picking up the transmission,” Pidge says from her seat. She’s sitting crosslegged in it, her screen pulled up as she flips through files. “There’re probably still in hiding, and we don’t want to blow their cover.”

“Are we sure they’re really there?” He asks it, but he already knows the answer.

“No,” Allura’s back straightens as it does when she gets serious. When her eyes harden and her lips purse, shoulders squaring as she faces off with a truth she doesn’t exactly like. “We’re not even certain they exist.” Her voice softens then, a breath of hope. “But it’s the only lead we have.”

And then there’s Keith, cutting through with the kind of absolute certainty that’s both foolhardy and grounding. “The galra files the Blade has recovered over the years say that there are accounts of witnesses seeing a ship leave Ecnes not long before their fall.” His brows furrow, chin tilting down as he stares at the floor, eyes distant. “It was weird. The reports say that the wormhole seemed to appear out of no where, and they only saw the ship as it went through. No one saw the ship actually leave the planet or break through the galra ships surrounding it. But they’re certain it was Ecarians.”

Coran turns then, pressing buttons on his console to pull up the main holoscreen, showing a map of a galaxy with several planets highlighted. “According to the files from the Blade, the galra had several suspect planets for the refugee ship’s destination, but they never knew for certain, and they never found out. Drugotha, however, is the closest to Ecnes’s native climate and landscape. They would no doubt feel the most at home here.”

“But the galra occupied them for like, several thousand _years_.” Hunk crosses his arms over his chest, gazing at the map with a critical eye. “The galra have occupied _all_ of these planets forever, and never found them.”

There’s a twinkle in Coran’s eye as he glances over his shoulder, a mischievous smile playing out across his lips. “Ah, but you forget. It’s surprisingly easy to hide from the galra empire if you now how. They never found this ship, and it was sitting out in the open on a defenseless planet for ten thousand years.”

“I—“ Hunk’s brow furrows for a moment before both raise upwards thoughtfully. “I suppose you have a point.”

“They’re there!” There’s an excitement in Pidge’s voice that has them all turning to look at her. She sits up straight in her chair, a manic grin peeling back her lips. “Do you guys remember when we freed this planet, and I got separated, and I said I got help from this really mysterious alien that didn’t look like the natives _at all_ , but then they disappeared and you guys didn’t really believe me?”

Lance glances around as the rest of the team shifts shifts their weight, glancing nervously at one another and uncomfortably sheepish.

“It’s not that we didn’t _believe_ you, we just didn’t see anyone by your description—“

“Yes,” Keith says, cutting off Shiro’s more tactical approach. His eyes never waver from Pidge, even as Shiro sighs, sending him an exasperated pout. “Get on with it, Pidge.”

Pidge’s grin never falters. “Well, I was looking through the castle’s database for what the actual Ecarians looked like, since we hadn’t done that yet. We’ve just been focused on figuring out stuff about their time tech, and we never bothered to actually look up pictures of them, but _this_ —“ They swipe whatever picture is on their screen off to the side. “Coran?”

“On it!” He turns back to his console, pulling up the sent file. A picture pulls up overtop the map. It’s of an alien with four arms and four eyes, thin and delicate horns pulling back from the crown of their forehead to smooth overtop sleek hair pulled back into a braid.

“Whoa,” Lance breathes.

“Dude,” Hunk echoes.

“And _that_ , ladies and gentle-dudes, is what an ecarian looks like. It’s _also_ what the alien that helped me looked like. I have no idea where they came from or where they went, but they’re _here_. They’re on Drugotha, and we never knew.”

Allura’s brow pinches as she gazes up at the picture, voice far too soft as she says, “Let’s just hope they’re still there. And that they can help us.”

 

* * *

 

Lance isn’t sure when falling into step with Keith became so second nature. Or maybe it always has been, and he’s just now noticing. Always drawn to Keith’s orbit. Inexplicably and subconsciously. Always just sort of ending up near him without meaning to and without realizing it.

And at this point, he’s not sure how much of it is _him_ , and how much of it is _Keith_. Not that he’s really complaining either way.

“Stop touching it.” He reaches out, lightly slapping Keith’s hand away from his hair. He glares, lips pursed, but Lance just fixes him with a stern stare. “If you keep touching it, you’re going to mess it up. And I will _not_ have you ruin my hard work.” He says it sternly, waggling a finger at Keith’s nose for emphasis.

Keith goes a little crosseyed trying to stare at it, and Lance’s heart does this weird little inflation because god _damn_ , where does Edgelord McScowlPants get off being so fucking cute.

His eyes finally trail upwards to meet Lance’s, that slight contemplative pout still on his lips as he mumbles, “It feels weird.”

He reaches for his hair again, but Lance catches his hand this time, gently pushing it away without really letting go. Several braids pull away from his temples, pulling back and gathered into a high pony tail. Lance smiles, and he can _feel_ that it’s a little too soft around the edges, but he can’t do much to fix it. “Well, it looks _fine_. You look good.”

Keith turns away, tucking his chin into the high collar of their Drugotha standard outfits, but not before Lance catches a glimpse of his smile. Even with his mouth hidden, Lance can see it in the way his cheeks lift, pushing up into his softened gaze as he stares at the ground.

That’s... yeah, that’s a sight that’s not good for Lance’s heart. So his eyes trail up the curve of his face to his hair. It really does look good, if he does say so himself. They had a lot of downtime while waiting for the sandstorm to subside. A lot of downtime that was spent with everyone nervously on edge, without a thing to do but wait.

It made for an extremely tense atmosphere, and Lance wasn’t having it.

So he offered to do Allura’s hair. They’re going to meet a royal council, right? Might as well look their best. It was a flimsy excuse, but she took it. She sat in front of him on the steps of the center podium of the bridge and let him set to work on her hair, humming softly as he did so. And just like that, some of the tension eased. He could feel it, even as he kept his attention on the task at hand.

When he was done with Allura’s hair, Pidge flopped down in front of him, demanding the same treatment. Her hair was a mess. Much longer than he’s used to from her, and pinned and pulled back every which way to get it out of her face. Not to mention it’s in that perfect in between, where it’s not long enough to lay flat, but it’s still too long, so it sticks up at every angle. Wrestling it into submission was a task, but now even Pidge looks well kept and pretty damn good.

And when he was done, he leaned back on his elbows, tilted his head back to grin at Keith upside down, and asked him if he wanted a turn.

It’s second nature to tease Keith, especially where his hair is concerned, but Lance hadn’t expected him to actually give in. Not that it stopped the butterflies in his chest from going haywire as Keith settled silently in front of him with a soft little huff, shoulders hunched and arms crossed over his chest.

His heartbeat was erratic as he sunk his fingers into Keith’s hair, surprisingly soft but unsurprisingly tangled. His skin felt like it was on fire, cheeks burning and nerve endings alight. He felt everything, all at once. Could smell Keith’s hair, his skin, just... _Keith_. It was frightening how familiar it was becoming.

And when he couldn’t help himself and scratched at Keith’s scalp, carding his fingers through his hair far more than was strictly necessary, he felt Keith relax. Felt him lean back until his back was pressed up against Lance’s legs. Neither of them shied away from the contact.

He sternly reminded himself that he was doing this because they were friends, and he _likes_ doing this sort of thing for his friends. He already did it for Allura and Pidge, so logically, Keith was no different. It _felt_ different though. It felt different in the way his body react to every insignificant touch. It felt different in the way his mind was in overdrive and static all at once.

Yeah, self-awareness is a bitch.

And it hurts. Despite feeling the buzz of possibility and budding hope for _more_ , despite the way his body works itself into a giddy fit whenever Keith is near, it’s always quickly washed away with the cold dread of reality.

So when Keith squeezes Lance’s hand, reminding him very suddenly that he’s been holding onto it far longer than necessary, he lets it go. Because Keith isn’t his to hold onto. He can let himself enjoy casual touches, but anything more, anything beyond the realm of platonic friendship, isn’t fair to either of them.

No matter how much Lance wants it.

So he lets go of Keith’s hand as they step up to the main doors of the castle, lining up with their friends.

“Ready, everyone?” Coran’s voice calls over the speakers.

“Roger that, Coran.” Shiro calls back, pulling goggles down over his eyes. The rest of them follow suit.

The goggles are padded enough that they fit snuggly against his face, clear enough that they don’t hamper his vision too much. They’re all dressed in, what he’s been told, is traditional Drugotha outfits. Skin tight body suits beneath, with an overcoat that goes down to their knees with several slits for movement, wide sleeves that end at the elbow, high collars, and an attached hood. The whole ensemble is completed with gloves and tall boots.

He thinks it’s a little much for a desert planet, but at least the material is light weight, thin, and extremely breathable.

Once their goggles are in place, collars buttoned high to cover the lower half of their faces, they pull their hoods up. The hoods are probably the heaviest part of the whole outfit. Heavy and stiff to stay in place against the desert winds.

“Good luck out there, paladins!” Coran’s voice chirps through the speakers, then quieter and a hair more solemn. “And do keep me informed?”

“We will, Coran. Don’t worry.” Allura says, voice hardened and shoulders set. She’s in mission mode already, and it has Lance feeling antsy. The familiar situation sending energy and adrenaline through his system without a proper outlet.

The first thing he becomes aware of when the doors open is the hot wave of wind that comes whipping into the castle. Hot, dry, and full of fine, gritty sand. He squints against it reflexively, despite the goggles that protect his eyes.

Allura starts down the ramp first, and it only takes a moment before Shiro and Keith are at her heels. Lance brings up the rear with Hunk and Pidge. He has to lean against the wind somewhat, but then Hunk’s hand is at his shoulder for added support. When Lance turns to give him an appreciative smile, he can see he’s already doing the same for Pidge as well.

Lance lets Hunk guide him down the ramp while he openly stares at the planet unfolding around them.

They came down as soon as the sandstorm subsided enough for flying to be manageable, though it hasn’t completely cleared. The winds still kick up gusts, swirling sands around them and whipping through the city in bursts. Still, they saw several people running out into the streets to watch their descent, so it must be safe enough.

The entire planet is reddish brown in color as they descended, with greenish water that makes up ocean-like rivers that fragment the landscape. They came down on the royal city and the main intergalactic base of trade and communication. A city called Ascacan, or something like that. The information was relayed to him while he was fixing up Keith’s hair, so the accuracy of his memory is faulty at best.

From what he _does_ remember, most of Drugotha is uninhabitable. People cluster in massive cities centered around underground fresh water lakes, and the space between them is known as the sand wastes. He wasn’t really paying attention to how they get between cities, or how frequent travel is, but it’s probably not important.

Ascacan is nestled in a valley bowl, surrounded on all sides by mountains made of jutting rock that rise from the desert. The mountains and cliffs protect the city from a majority of the desert winds and sand gusts. He can see them looming in the distance in every direction. The buildings all around them range from squat to tall, all with slopping, rounded roofs that sand slides right off of. Most of the buildings seem to be made from stone, though the color variations aren’t many. Orange to red to brown to dirty gray.

There are a few desert plants, spotting the massive city with green. Vines that crawl over rounded rooftops and up the sides of buildings. Trees with large fronds line the larger streets and walkways, offering some semblance of protection from the sun that looms large and imposing in the sky. Far redder than Earth’s sun, casting the whole planet in warm hues.

The central palace is built atop a plateau, rising above the city at the center, and the castle was landed on the cleared landing pad of space next to it. The palace itself is a whole new level of imposing, but he only got a look at it from above as they came down, and he doesn’t get a good look at it now.

As soon as they reach the bottom of the ramp, they’re greeted by three waiting drugonans, all bundled up in the same sort of outfits but with far more flare to them. Brighter colors. Embroidery along the seams. They wave as the group approaches, and then turn and hurry away, gesturing for them to follow.

Allura leads, quicker once she’s off the ship, and the rest of them follow up, half jogging to keep up with them. The drugonans don’t stop until they’ve ducked inside the palace, and as the paladins hurry inside after them, the large palace doors are heaved shut behind them.

It’s only then that the drugonan’s turn to face them, pulling down their hoods and pulling their goggles down to hang around their neck. Lance recognizes the one in the center as the one they had spoken to on the ship. He doesn’t know their name, but he’s pretty sure they’re some sort of royal advisor.

He doesn’t recognize the other two, but they’re very clearly drugonan, and they’re very clearly high up in the social order. Other than their finer outfits, they’re both decked out with jewelry, their scales are shining, and their hair is done impeccably, despite the hood and googles and wind.

The one on the left, skin a pale shade of yellow and scales dotting her cheeks a deep gold, hair the same gold and shaved on one side with the rest swept up and over to the other, has a rose gold circlet resting across her forehead, ruby nestled at the center. She’s pretty but dangerous, with a sharp spark in his eyes that’s both threatening and challenging. She gives off the same aura that Allura does: gorgeous, confident, and always ready to fight.

It’s thrilling, as is the way she’s openly staring right at him. When she catches his eye, she smiles, slow and secretive. It gives him the distinct impression that she’s familiar with him, and he wonders if he hit on her last time they were on this planet. Knowing himself, he probably did, and based on the look she’s giving him, she wasn’t entirely put off by the idea.

It’s... a strange thing. Self-awareness. Part of him is _thrilled_ by the prospect, but it feels like a gut reaction. One that’s deeply imbedded in him. One that doesn’t have roots as deep as he might have once thought, because the reaction is instantly shadowed by a much more subdued and calming realization. It’s not so much a cold drench of water as it is a cooling stream past his nerves. A sad clarity, but one that still remains soft at its heart.

Because no matter how beautiful and thrilling she might be, she’s not Keith.

“It’s good to see you again, paladins of Voltron.” The drugonan at the center clasps their hands together and bows, graceful and deep. The others follow suit. When they straighten, there’s a small, friendly smile on their thin lips. “We did not expect you again so soon. Not when the coalition has been busy—“

Shiro clears his throat suddenly and sharply, coughing loud enough to startle them all. With everyone’s eyes on him, he lowers his fist from his mouth slowly, smile sheepish and apologetic.

Allura picks it back up before they can say anything more. “We wish we were here under better circumstances. As it is, our matter is... very urgent.” He can tell from her stiffness that she hadn’t meant to, but her eyes trail to him, worry creasing her brow before snapping back to the drugonan.

His gut twists uncomfortably, but he’s not certain if it’s the chronolomia or just nerves.

He wonders just how much worse it’s gonna get in the future.

And yup, that extra twist in the gut is definitely the nerves.

“Of course.” The center drugonan says, nodding sharply. Smile suddenly gone and eyes hardened. All business. All formality. “Come. The council has gathered for your arrival, and we have headed your request for discretion. Your meeting will be private with the royal representatives.”

Allura’s shoulders visibly slump, a more genuine smile gracing her lips. “Thank you. Luuxantha”

The ghost of a smile threatening to break through. “After all you have done for us, it is the least we can do.” They turn to the drugonan at their side to wave them off, whispering a few words in a hissed undertone that Lance doesn’t pick up on.

The two bow, backing away. But the one with the circlet meets Lance’s eyes again, cheeks lifting in a faint smile as her gaze shifts very pointedly to Keith, looking him up and down. When she meets Lance’s eyes again, there’s something there. Something mischievous and secretive. Something he feels like he should understand, but he doesn’t. It makes him bristle, but then the two of them are turning and walking away, leaving him floundering because _what the fuck was that_.

Luuxantha guilds them deeper into the palace, hurrying through the halls at a brisk pace. Allura and Shiro are right on her heels, followed closely by Hunk and Pidge. Lance brings up the rear, eyes darting around the halls, trying to take in all the grand splendor as they whisk past it. They pass several drugonan on their way, some with and some without the outer coat and goggles. They all pause and bow as they walk by, and Lance can hear their curious whispers in their wake.

He’s too busy looking up at the domed, vaulted ceilings and the long, intricate tapestries that line the walls, and misses the bunched bump of the rug beneath his feet. The stumble catches him off guard, but Keith’s hand on his arm to steady him doesn’t surprise him. Not with how closely Keith has been watching him lately.

When he turns to thank him, or at least acknowledge the save, he stops. Keith is watching him, not with amusement or wry exasperation at his trip, but with open scrutiny and worry creasing his brow. His lips purse as his eyes roam over Lance’s face, taking in every detail and making him feel far too exposed.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and there’s a lot more weight in that question than the words alone. A weight that irritates him as much as it leaves him flustered.

He rolls his eyes, pulling his arm out of Keith’s grip. “Right as rain, Keithy boy.” He links his fingers together, putting them behind his head as he continues walking. Keith falls into step beside him, and though he’s silent, Lance can _feel_ his eyes on him. He sighs, loud and long, head lolling to the side to give him a flat look. “I _tripped_ , Keith. Stop staring at me like I’m about to keel over.”

His brows furrow, and he pulls back just a fraction, chin lifting as his lips purse. “I’m not—“

“You _are_.” He stops then, and Keith stops a step ahead, turning back to face him. Lance’s arms fall back to his sides, and he meets Keith’s gaze steadily, ignoring their team continuing down the hall. “Look,” He says, voice low and private. “I know you’re worried, but just... _trust me_ when I say I’ll tell you if and when I feel something... _bad_.”

He frames it as an exasperated request, but it’s a thinly veiled plea. A plea for normalcy. A plea of trust. Because he _knows_ why Keith and the others are worried— fuck, he’s worried, too— but he doesn’t want to be constantly reminded that this timeline is going to eventually kill him. He doesn’t like being looked at like he might die any moment. He doesn’t like being looked at with those distant, hollow eyes that see right past him and to future version of himself that’s dying a much more rapid pace.

He’s already got enough paranoia and conflicting emotions to sort through, he doesn’t need the others’ weighing on him as well.

Keith stares at him for a long moment, expression not quite hard, not quite closed off, but still near unreadable. He looks conflicted, surprised, and eyes far too calculating as they meet his own. Arms crossed over his chest, standing tall and firm, eyes soft behind the sharp gaze, worry behind his scowl. Lance meets his gaze steadily, refusing to back down, despite being distracted by the inch Keith now has on him and the little strand of hair that’s fallen from his high ponytail to frame his face and the _overwhelming_ urge he has to brush it behind his ear.

Then, slowly, Keith’s scowl eases. His shoulders slump as his head tilts slightly, lips pulling into a small, sardonic smile. The crease in his brows eases, leaving him looking wryly amused. “Too bad I know you well enough to know that you won’t.” Lance just stares, brows pinching and lips parting to argue, only to snap shut once more. His jaw clenches as he swallows the lie on his tongue, and Keith’s smile widens even as his voice softens. “You don’t like to worry me. _Us_. And I know you won’t say anything until things get bad. Really bad.”

Arms crossed loosely over his chest, Lance faces him, head lolling to the side with a defeated smile. He can’t argue that point, and he’s far too tired to try. Besides, with the way Keith is looking at him, he knows there’s no point. Keith says he knows him in a way that leaves no room for argument, and Lance believes him. Because he hit right at the heart of the issue, and he’s a hundred percent correct.

As annoying at that is, the fact that Keith knows him this well, and says so with that exasperated but fond little smile, is far more thrilling than a smile from a pretty alien. Hits him right in the heart and leaves him with these waves of buzzing nerves rippling out from his core.

He may not have a chance with Keith, but Keith knows him. In the future, they’re close. Close enough that they can cuddle without issue. That they know each other’s habits. That they _care_ about each other.

And maybe it’s not all that he wants, but he thinks that being a person that Keith cares this much about is one hell of a consolation prize. One that he can definitely live with.

“Yeah, well... what if I promise to tell you if I feel something again?”

Keith thinks it over for a moment, eyes narrowing and scrutinizing. His lips purse, but it’s more in thought than an actual frown. And then they purse a fraction more, tightening in a way that’s clearly hiding a smile, even as it lifts his cheeks and crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

He holds out a hand then, a fist with only his pinky extended. “Pinkie promise?” And he says it with so much grave seriousness that it takes a moment for that to fully sink in. Lance’s eyes slid down to his hand, to this pinkie, and then back up to his face, cocking one eyebrow. It’s only then that Keith’s mask starts to crack, his smile peeking through. “You take them very seriously. Tío Lance never breaks a pinkie promise.”

Surprise hits him first, cold and unfamiliar, but it’s followed quickly by a consuming warmth. A tingling in his limbs and a fluttering his his chest as butterflies threaten to choke him. He chuckles, low and soft, unable to stop himself as he holds out a hand, pinkie extended. “You’ve got me there.” The way he says it is far too soft, far too fond, and far too full of emotions he shouldn’t let near the surface. But it gets the last of Keith’s worry to ease, and for that, it’s worth it. He hooks his little finger with Keith’s, ignoring the way his body reacts even to such a small contact.

Ignoring how it feels like so much when it’s really so little.

And then his grin is back, familiar and confident, teasing and mischievous. Stitching itself back into place, hiding his vulnerability and sealing away his heart. “You’ve got yourself a pinkie promise, mullet.”

Keith rolls his eyes, and there’s a familiarity in that, too. A normalcy. He drops Lance’s finger, shoving Lance’s shoulder lightly as he steps away. “Not a mullet.”

He turns to follow their team down the hall, and Lance falls into step behind him, feeling just a little lighter, even as guilt continues to gnaw at his heart.

 

* * *

 

The meeting with the royal council is held in a large chamber with a vaulting, domed ceiling. From the large double doors, stairs lead down into a circular depression in the floor, and rising from all sides are stands and benches that stand empty. At the far end, raised on a podium and fanned out, are a row of high backed chairs. Seven of them total, but only three are occupied.

The royal drugonan’s look no different from the others, save for the clothes they wear. None of them wear the outer gear used for braving the dry, sand-filled air. From what Lance can tell, they all still wear the black body suits, but overtop them they wear twisting layers of iridescent and colorful fabrics, see through where the layers are thin.

The woman in the center has skin a deep rust color, with even darker scales along her cheeks and darker hair. The woman to her right is a pale spun shade of yellow with gold scales, and the man to her right is a shade of brown that’s rich and earthy with scales that look near black. All of them wear some sort of circlet on their foreheads, and a plethora of jewelry on their necks and wrists.

While they sit above them, they welcome the paladins openly and genuinely. Their gemstone eyes shine with interest and curiosity, not bothering to hide their confusion as to why team Voltron would show up again so soon. Especially asking for a private audience.

The greetings are short lived. As soon as the pleasantries are out of the way, the drugonans lean forward in their chairs, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. Allura stands at their center, forever their heart and the face of diplomacy. Shiro stands off to her side, a pillar of support and the backbone of their team. Lance stands with Pidge and Hunk behind them. Keith is at his side, but Lance is surprised when he’s the one to step forward to address the council.

He’s blunt and tactless in the way only Keith can be, and yet somehow charismatic because of it. He doesn’t dress up the situation. He doesn’t beat around the bush. Straight to the point. Says it in a way that isn’t aggressive despite its bluntness, but matter-of-fact. Direct. He stands tall beside Allura, chin lifted to meet their eyes, unwavering in his conviction and his confidence. Everything about him commanding attention and respect without demanding it.

It sends a shiver down Lance’s spine.

Keith tells the council that they have reason to believe ecarians are living on Drugotha, descendants of refugees from Ecnes. He pauses long enough for the three to digest that information, and Lance doesn’t miss the way a ripple goes through them. Obvious, but not overly so. Obvious in the subtle shift. The stiffening of spines, the freezing of movement, the minute way their eyes widened. The way they lean back in their seats to glance at one another again, quick flashes of their eyes before their gazes are once again settled on the paladins. This time with more caution.

They begin their denial before Keith cuts in again. Straight to the heart. He takes a step forward with it. Telling the council that Voltron needs the Ecarians. That they’re privy to information that’s extremely important. That it’s a matter of life and death.

His voice cracks a little at that last part. Barely noticeable, but enough that Lance can hear the lump forming in his throat. Tension settles in the room. Thick with silence. The drugonans watch them for a long moment before exchanging looks, silent communication passing in the small changes of their expressions. While the paladins watch. Tense and worried.

Lance can see the way Keith’s hands curl into fists at his side, eyes narrowing. The way Allura stands straighter, lips pursed and breaths far too heavy and measured to be normal. The way Shiro stands far too still, far too frozen, a warrior caught in time, a coin held in suspension the moment before it falls. The way Hunk shifts his weight, toes digging into the ground while he flexes his hands, chewing the inside of his cheek. The way Pidge glares at the council, amber eyes sharp and calculating, fingers twitching at her sides, tapping against her thigh in a rhythm that Lance can’t decipher.

He feels his stomach twist, breath held suspended in his lungs. The air around him is thick and heavy. Choking.

Then the council looks back at them, shoulders slumping with a collective sigh.

They look weary. They look wary. They look guilty. But above all else, they look firm in their decision as they reveal that Drugotha has been the home of the Ecarian refugees since the planet’s fall. A secret that most drugonan’s don’t know, but one that the royal council has sworn to protect.

A collective wave of relief washes through them. Electric hope sparking between them. A current with a feedback loop as they exchange glances, smiling unable to be contained. The tension lifts, and the release of the weight makes them feel light and giddy.

Keith catches Lance’s eye, and the spark in his eyes, the determined flair of hope, is electrifying.

Shiro brings them all back to focus, back to the council. They’re told that while the Ecarians do exist on Drugotha, there’s no guarantee they will see them. The council agrees to do what they can, but they have to wait.

Wait.

Be patient.

There are protocols in place.

The council has to contact the Ecarians, explain the situation, and only when given the go-ahead, will the drugonans take the paladins to the Ecarian’s hidden city. Until then, there was nothing to do but wait.

Lance hates waiting. Especially when time is set against them. He can feel each second tick against his skin. Each one bringing with it the potential for a twinge, an itch, a spasm. Each one a possible trigger for his encroaching chronolomia to dig deeper.

From the look Keith gives the council, Lance knows he’s feeling it, too. Shiro moves toward him, but Lance is quicker. Stepping up next to him and putting a hand on his arm, startling the red paladin out of his glare.

“Stop grinding your teeth,” He says softly, shadow of a smile on his lips.

Shiro’s hand comes down on his other shoulder, and Keith turns to him, finding himself the subject of one of Shiro’s patient smiles. “We’re not giving up, Keith. We never give up. Lance knows that.”

It’s only then that Lance feels him relax, easing into his touch even as he nods at Shiro.

 

* * *

 

The royal council assured them that their message was sent, but said that no matter the reply, they would have to wait until dawn to leave. The sand wastes are far too dangerous after dark. So stuck in Ascacan, special and honored guests whose landing was noticed by many, they end up stuck at a feast in honor of Voltron.

Don’t get him wrong. It’s not that he doesn’t like feasts. Feasts are basically just fancy parties with a heavy emphasis on the food. And he _loves_ parties.

But even as they sit in their seats of honor, even as rounds of food are brought out, even as their cups are never ending, even as they watch the entertainment that the drugonans bring out, there’s a tension amongst the paladins.

It’s a heaviness of anticipation that sours in their guts, twisting their nerves and leaving them on edge. Suspended in time, yet stuck at the mercy of it.

Even as they smile at the drugonans, even as they laugh and talk, even as they applaud the entertainment, Lance can see that he’s not the only one unable to relax. There’s a rigidness in all of their postures, a flexing of fists, a tapping of fingers, and a bouncing of legs. Their smiles look to strained at the edges, and they rarely reach their eyes. None of them touch their food much. Even Hunk stares at his plate looking far too forlorn.

Lance finds it hard to sit still. His foot bounces incessantly, and his mind won’t focus on anything for too long. He tries to hold up conversation with those around him, tries to turn on the charm, but his head and his heart aren’t in it. Eventually he lets himself drift away from conversation, and while his friends cast him worried glances, none of them press him about his silence. Somewhere between tearing at his cuticles, picking at the table, and scooting food around his plate, Keith has taken down his hair and offered his hair tie.

He makes a mumbled protest about Keith ruining his hair, but it’s hollow and they both know it. He takes the offering for what it is, and he’s grateful for it.

They’re watching the fire dancers when it happens.

There are ten of them total, all dressed in the same flowing clothes that reflect the shine from the flames. Some of them twirl fans. Some with staves, some with balls on chains. All on fire. Spinning and twirling together, so perfectly in sync that they never once tangle. The lighting in the room is dim for their performance, and their forms blur until only the light of the spinning fire and the reflections of it are what he can focus on. And he watches them, eyes locked on until the light twists and blurs, forming pictures in the air.

It’s hypnotic and mesmerizing. It’s relaxing and calming.

The feeling creeps up on him slowly. Creeping into the pit of his stomach, hard and twisting. Settling and rooting. He doesn’t notice it until it starts to crawl up through his chest, spreading throughout his core. He feels it like tendrils of ice in his veins. Creeping fingers, causing his skin to crawl and writhe.

His foot stops bouncing and his hands still, Keith’s hair tie suspended and twisted between his fingers. He feels his lungs seize up in anticipation, breath coming short as panic begins to well up inside him. The feeling hasn’t come to a head yet, but he feels it. Feels it spreading inside him. It’s unlike it was before, but he knows what it is on an instinctual level.

It feels like the calm before the storm. The moment of cool air and fresh wind as clouds begin to darken the sky. The feeling of suspension and electricity in the air before lightning strikes.

His hand shoots out, and he’s unsure where the hair tie falls. He instinctively grabs for Keith next to him, scrambling at open air and the arm of his chair before he finds flesh. Before his hand settles on his forearm and his fingers squeeze, tight and desperate.

“Keith—“ He feels like he’s squeezing the air from his lungs to speak, voice strained and soft. Like if he speaks too loud, it might make the wave crash faster.

“Lance?” There’s worry there, but it’s more than that. His voice is deep and firm. Grounding when Lance feels like he’s about to drift away.

He turns slowly, eyes dragging away from the fire dancers and settling on Keith. On the pale angles of his face. Admiring, for just a moment, how the light of the flames dance and twist across his skin. Flicker in his eyes like coals set in the midnight sky. Even with his brows creased in worry, hair falling to frame his face, lips pursed into a tight scowl, he’s beautiful.

Lance feels his heart twist, and he wants to blame the chronolomia.

He must have stared for a moment too long because Keith’s hand is suddenly falling over his own, covering it, squeezing it. “Lance?” It’s more insistent this time. He leans over the arm of his chair toward Lance, violet gaze searching his face. “What’s wrong?

His mouth feels incredibly dry, and his tongue feels thick and useless. Still, he manages to lick his lips. They feel numb as he forms the words. “I don’t feel good.” Keith’s hand tightens, and the ache of it is grounding as his skin starts to feel numb. Lance holds his gaze, voice a harsh whisper, broken and pleading. “Get me out of here.”

He’s afraid he won’t be able to form the words with the lump forming in his throat, but he’s barely finished speaking before Keith is out of his chair and hauling him to his feet. He has trouble focusing as they move, vision moving in and out of focus, so he closes his eyes and leans against Keith. Trusts in the arm that wraps around his waist and the hand that pulls his own arm over strong shoulders. He hears concerned voices, but they’re brushed aside by Keith’s voice. Firm and sharp. Deep and rich.

Then he’s being set down, and he opens his eyes to find himself sitting in an empty hallway, back to a wall. Keith is crouched in front of him, face pinched in worry. Lance wants to reassure him. Wants to let him know it’ll be alright. It’ll pass. Wants to smile and say he’s fine.

But as he lifts a hand to reach out to him, the mounting tension inside him breaks. The storm cracks and lightning shoots through him. He feels it shatter. It comes all at once. Burning skin. Sharp, biting pain. Snaps of his bones. Tears in his flesh. Phantom blows that come, and come, and come. Ripping apart his body all at once. Flooding his nerves with pain. Indescribable and overwhelming pain.

His mind snaps, going dizzy and detaching from his body, drifting far away to hide and protect himself from it.

He opens his mouth to tell Keith he’s fine, but all that comes out is a scream.

 

* * *

 

He felt like the wave lasts for hours, but he’s told it only lasted a few minutes.

Unlike the bouts of dizziness and nausea, the strange itching and irritation on his skin, this one was torture. It eased up on him slowly, and then dragged him down into hell. It felt like his body was being torn to pieces, seared back together, only to be torn all over again. His skin felt stretched to its limits, his bones felt bruised, and his insides felt twisted and wrong.

There were far too many sensations, all of them _wrong_ and all of them painful. All of them too sudden and all at once. His eyes squeezed shut, he’s certain he screamed throughout the whole thing, but that’s mostly due to the fact that his throat felt raw afterwards. He’s also certain he was thrashing, and vaguely remembers the pressure of hands holding him still. Vaguely remembers something being shoved between his teeth.

He remembers voices, but they couldn’t penetrate the fog of panic and pain that settled over him in those moments, strangling his senses and overloading his mind.

When it was over, he felt drained and lifeless. His body was heavy, and there was still a haze on his mind, disconnecting it from the rest of him. His skin tingled, his bones ached, and there was that itch on his cheek again. Everything hurt. He felt nauseous and dizzy. And he was so, so tired.

For several long moments, he let himself just lay there. Let himself breathe. When he heard his name, his eyes cracked open to find all his friends there, crowded around him, expressions ranging from worried, to heart broken, to horrified. And everywhere in between.

He remembers smiling, but he knows it was weak.

He remembers Keith’s hands on his face. He remembers being pulled into Hunk’s arms in an embrace that was far too tight, but welcomed nonetheless. He remembers Shiro carrying him to his room, and closing his eyes to lean against his chest, feeling safe.

They were given rooms in the palace for the night. Extravagant rooms with large windows, walls covered in tapestries, and decorations rich in colors. Their rooms were part of a suite, located in one of the palace’s towers. Entering into the communal bathroom and sitting room, five rooms sprouted out, evenly spaced along the circular space. They’d only had a moment to take a peek, a moment to refresh themselves, before the feast had begun.

Shiro takes him to the central sitting room, laying him across a comfortable cushioned bench that could pass as a couch. Shiro smiles at him, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing before moving away. Allura takes his place, sitting close and reaching out to gently cup his face.

He lets his eyes close with a soft hum. Her hands are cool to the touch against his heated skin. They feel good, and if he’s not mistaken, there’s something more at play here. A light against his eyelids, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Slowly, the ache in his cheek fades away, and the buzz in his skin seems to settle. He feels the weight of someone sit on his other side, a rough and calloused hand grab his, and he knows without looking that it’s Keith.

He hears the others talking around him, but their words don’t stick. Their voices merely roll over him, weaving a tapestry of comfort and familiarity. He lets himself be wrapped up in it. Lets his mind drift.

When Allura’s hands pull away, he opens his eyes, tilting his head to look at her. She hovers over him, small smile in place even as her eyes are worried. “How’re you feeling?”

He feels his smile in his cheeks more than his lips, and when he speaks, his voice sounds hoarse. “Better.” He risks a glance at Keith, but the intensity of his stare is too much. He rolls his head back to the other side, eyes flickering between the rest of his friends, hovering close. “What the fuck _was_ that?”

Furrowed brows and pursed lips great him.

“Chronolomia,” Pidge says, arms crossed tight over her chest.

He gives her a flat stare. “I got that much, Pidge.” He looks to Allura, worry creasing his brow. “Will it... does it always feel like that?”

She looks worried and helpless, but there’s a strength that straightens her spine and squares her shoulders. Even as weariness weighs on her features. “I don’t know, Lance. I honestly don’t know.”

“I thought Coran said it wouldn’t get bad for a few more weeks?” Hunk says, chewing his lips. “What happened to that?”

Pidge shakes her head. “It’s not supposed to get _bad_ for a few more weeks.”

“This wasn’t bad?” Hunk’s voice rises a few pitches.

“It sure as hell felt bad.” Lance says dryly, and feels Keith’s hand tighten on his. He squeezes back.

“From what I read, and from what Coran told us,” Pidge continues. “It’s gonna start coming in waves. Sometimes it’ll be small things, and sometimes you’ll have big spikes like— like _that_.” There’s a strain in her voice, and she clears her throat. It hits Lance just how _scared_ she looks, and how much that makes her look her age. “It’ll get more and more frequent as time goes on.”

“Is there anyway to stop it?” Hunk asks.

Pidge shakes her head. “There’s no cure. Only getting him back to the right time.”

“That’s why we’re here.” Shiro says, solid and firm. They all look to him, desperate eyes locking onto the strength and confident he exudes. His brow is creased, lips pursed into a small frown, but there’s a fierceness in his eyes. A blaze of determination that Lance can feel fueling his own embers of hope, chasing away the shadows of fear. “Tomorrow we’ll talk to the Ecarians, and they’ll know of a way to slow down the chronolomia. For _both_ Lances.”

Then the eyes are on him, but he feels them seeing past him. Past whatever fit of pain he just had. Imagining it worse. Imagining another Lance experiencing it. More often as the time he’s in rejects his body. He can’t bear to meet any of their eyes, so he turns gaze upward. There’s a skylight at the top of the domed ceiling, and he lets himself get lost in the stars.

 

* * *

 

While the room given to him is extravagant, it’s far too spacious. The bed is large and low to the floor, positioned in the center of the room. The ceilings are tall, the space is open, and he feels far, far too exposed. Far too vulnerable. He curls up at the center, wrapped in blankets meant to insulate heat in the cold desert nights, and he fails at sleeping.

When he hears the soft knock on his door, at first he’s certain he imagined it. But he’s wide awake, and holding his breath, he listens.

When it comes again, he’s out of his bed in a heartbeat, wrapped up in blankets and padding over to the door. He’s not even surprised to find Keith standing there. Hair mused, bags dark under his eyes, skin pale in the moonlight. He looks exhausted, body slumped and eyes haunted. He says nothing, but there’s a plea in his silence.

Lance takes a step back, nodding toward the bed. He’s almost certain he sees Keith’s sigh of relief as he passes.

He closes the door, and is halfway across the room when he hears a knock again. He freezes mid-step, brow furrowing as he turns back. He waits as Keith sits on the edge of the bed, and he hears the knock again.

When he opens the door, it’s Hunk standing there, lifting his hand in a small, sheepish wave and a pillow tucked under his arm. Pidge is at his side, wrapped from head to toe in her own blanket, blearily rubbing her eyes with a sleep deprived scowl on her face.

A smile tugs at his lips as he steps aside, gesturing them in. If they’re surprised to see Keith already sitting on his bed, they don’t say anything.

The door is barely closed before he hears Allura clear her throat, and the turns back to see her and Shiro. They both look sheepish. Apologetic, even. Tired and exhausted as the rest of them. Haggard when they no longer have to smile for the sake of the drugonans.

He lets them in, and Shiro yawns as he pads over to the bed. He practically falls forward when he reaches it, collapsing next to Keith and causing the others to chuckle. Lance watches as his friends, his mismatched space family, settle onto the large bed. Kicking each other as they get settled. Shoving each other. Fighting over pillows and blankets until they’re satisfied. Curling in close to each other.

Then Allura is taking his arm, and smiles when he looks at him. She leads him to the bed and they crawl onto it, settling amongst the others.

Face pressed to Hunk’s shoulder, Keith’s arm draped across his waist, Pidge’s leg sprawled over his knee, hearing the soft sounds of Shiro’s snores, and clutching Allura’s hand over his pillow, he finally falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

They shoot across the sand wastes as the large, red sun rises on the horizon, casting the planet in sepia tones. The bikes they ride aren’t unlike Keith’s hover bike back on Earth. Hovering technology that’s familiar, but designed specifically to keep sand out of the engines, and running off of solar power and the heat generated from the sand below them. Sleek in design, with a large clear barrier on the front that sweeps up over them, keeping the sand and winds from hitting them in the face.

There are only a few of them. Team Voltron doubled up onto three bikes, and four drugonans on two bikes as both guards and guides. They had offered to fly over on the lions, but the council was insistent that they do it this way. They were also insistent that the paladins continue to dress in drugonan garb. They don’t want to draw any more attention than necessary to the location of the Ecarian city.

Even their escorts are dressed as average citizens, despite the fact that Lance had caught a glimpse of not only the weapons they hid under their outer coat, but the royal crest embroidered on their lapels.

When they had been shown to the bikes, they had been informed that taking fewer was not only less suspicious, but safer. The bikes are carefully weighted, but the desert winds can be rough. Two bodies on a bike balanced it better. They also were open about the fact that the desert is dangerous, and each bike would have a pilot and a gunsman.

Despite the overwhelming desire to test out the bike for himself, Lance has already mentally set himself back. With his recent episode of chronolomia, he wouldn’t be surprised if his friends decided that driving wasn’t the best idea for him. However, as they were presented with three bikes, the group split up automatically.

Shiro and Allura to one bike, Shiro taking the front seat and Allura sliding on behind him, a large laser rifle strapped to her back. Keith made a beeline for the second bike, and Pidge was hot on his heels, settling her own borrowed rifle to her back. Hunk went to the third bike and paused when he got there, turning to glance curiously at Lance.

Lance had hesitated, but they all stared at him, obviously waiting for him to take a pilot’s seat. “Are you sure?” He had asked, finger reverently drifting across the handlebars.

Hunk had clapped him on his back, “Dude, you’re one of our best pilots. They said these things are hard to handle out there in the wastes. I’m just glad I don’t have to do it.”

He had caught encouraging smiles from the rest of the team as he settled into his seat, and he had pointedly ignored the look in Keith’s eyes as he revved the engine.

They left shortly after first light, and they’ve been going for what felt like hours. It’s hot, with the sun beating on their backs, but the clothes they wear are breathable enough that the breeze from their speed is cooling. Still, Lance can feel sweat gathering on his skin.

Hunk sits behind him, and thankfully there’s enough room on the bike and a bump between the seats so that he doesn’t have to sit plastered against Lance’s back. That didn’t stop him from clinging to Lance when he first shot out of the city into open desert, reveling in the open terrain and speed their bikes could climb to. His shouts had made Lance laugh, and they had only gotten louder as Keith shot out ahead of him, smirk on his lips, challenge in his eyes, and Pidge sticking her tongue out as they passed.

Even Shiro and Allura had joined in on the race, as short lived as it had been before their guides were shouting at them to slow down and swerve to avoid a nest of some kind of giant sand snake that was burrowed beneath the surface.

After that brief scare, a few well aimed shots and a few panicked shots from the rifles, and a lot of speed to put distance between them, they had slowed down and fallen into formation with their guides.

“What’re those?” Lance asks, nodding to the side to indicate a giant pillar rising out of the sand some distance away. It’s black and gleaming in the sun, several holes carved into it at all angles. It rises tall and imposing. “We’ve passed a bunch of them, and there were a lot of them circling Ascacan.”

He rides with his hood up, coat fully buttoned to hide the lower half of his face, and his goggles fit snug over his eyes. Though they had to leave their helmets behind, they were given communicators that didn’t quite fit comfortably in their ears, but picked up their voices pretty cleanly while leaving the wind out of it.

“They look kinda spooky, and I’m pretty sure I heard them howling.” Hunk’s voice filters through the earpiece, an echo of it behind him. “Think they like... scare of the desert monsters?”

“They’re not monsters, Hunk. They’re the planets natural wildlife,” Shiro says.

“Look kinda like monsters to me...”

“Oh! I was talking to some drugonans last night about those,” Pidge says, excitement bubbling in their voice. “They’re an alarm system. They’re made from black stone that forms naturally on the planet. It’s sturdy but flexible, and when the wind goes through those holes, it makes sound.”

“Alarm system for...?” Lance asks, glancing out across the sands. Apart from a couple vague movements beneath the sands and skirting around a herd of horned creatures, they hadn’t seen much of anything for a while.

“The wind.” Pidge says simply. “It’s a storm warning system.”

“For sand storms?” Keith asks.

“Yup. They’re spread out across the wastes between cities. The pillars are so sensitive to the vibrations of the wind, and they’re tall enough to pick up the stronger pre-storm winds. You can literally hear a storm coming long before it comes.”

“According to the drugonans, the holes are different sizes, so the wind creates different pitches depending on what direction the wind comes from.” Allura adds.

“That’s... pretty cool, actually.” Lance says, eyeing the tower in the distance. There’s a hum of agreement over their coms.

He tries to listen for some of the howling as they go, but it’s low and distant. A vague rumble when the breeze picks up. Nothing that sounds remotely alarming, once he gets used to it.

They stop at an oasis around midday. A patch of greenery surrounding water that has a vague green tinge. Tall trees with sturdy trunks and wide, thick leaves. It offers some semblance of shade, along with the stone shelters that are built around the lake. Circular and empty, simple and rough in their construction, but useful for travelers that need a place to stay or are caught out in a storm.

They stop only long enough to eat before they’re on their way again.

They start a game of twenty questions over the coms, but it’s short lived as they enter more dangerous territory. The terrain gets rougher with more dunes and hills. Their guides take them on a very specific path, encouraging them to follow as close as they can. They don’t tell them what they’re avoiding, but Lance is pretty sure he sees not only sink holes beneath the sand, but the movement of predators. Large birds with long, whip-like tails circle above the area, but they never come close enough to be a threat. Scavengers, their guides say.

It’s mid afternoon when they reach a desert mountain range. Large rock formations jutting drastically and suddenly out of the landscape. It’s not long after that when they reach the ravine.

It cuts through the landscape, settled in a location that’s near impossible to see until they’re right up next to it. He has no doubts that they would’ve gone straight into it had they not been following their guides. They drive alongside it a ways, and he can feel Hunk holding onto him as he leans to the side to peer down. He also feels his best friend’s shutter when he straightens back up.

They stop at a large rock formation. One that looks like several stones piled high, looking natural from a distance but completely intentional upon closer inspection. Their guides stop first, dismounting quickly. The paladins follow, a little more cautiously.

“Uhhh, I don’t see a city.” Hunk says, following Allura’s lead and pulling the rifle off his back to lay it across the seat of their bike.

“They did say it was a _hidden_ city.” Pidge points out, doing the same with her gun.

They gather up with the guides, where Shiro is already turning to them. “Where do we go from here?”

“We will stay here and watch the bikes.” One of the guides says, hefting a rifle in his hands.

Shiro raises a brow, glancing at the others before turning back to him. “And... what do we do?”

“Follow the Ecarian’s down.”

Before Shiro can question him further, movement catches their eyes. They turn to see two figures step out from behind the rock. They’re wearing the same basic drugonan outfit as the rest of them, but there’s something off about it. Their goggles are bigger, their hoods are pulled up further, and there are bumps beneath the coat.

They step forward, and the guides move to meet them. Words are exchanged in a language he doesn’t understand, and then the two Ecarians are turning to them. “Paladins. It is a pleasure to meet you. If you would follow us, please. The elders are waiting for you.”

They walk toward the ravine’s edge, and they follow hesitantly. “Um,” Allura steps forward to catch their attention. “Pardon me, but where exactly are we going?”

They don’t turn around, but their voice carries. “To Caren’Cyth. Our home.”

“And how exactly do we get to Caren’Cyth?” Keith asks, stepping up beside them next to the ravine. He leans forward to look over the edge of it, and Lance feels a shiver of dread as he does so.

The Ecarians turn to look at him, and while their faces are hidden, Lance gets the distinct impression they’re smiling. “We go down, of course.”

And with that, they step off the edge of the ravine and fall.

They all shout, wordless and surprised, rushing to the edge to peer down. The ravine is wide and jagged as it cuts through the landscape, a mar across the surface. The edges form cliffsides, sharply and abruptly digging into the earth. It’s deep enough that they can’t see the bottom, and all they catch is the fluttering coats as the two Ecarians disappear into darkness.

“Okay,” Lance says, kneeling at the edge of the cliff to look into the ravine. “ _What just happened?_ ”

Allura turns to their guides, eyes sharp. “What is the meaning of this?”

They exchange looks and shrug, gesturing to the ravine. “The Ecarian city is down there.”

She raises a brow. “And we just... jump?”

“Yes.”

She exchanges a look with Shiro, who merely stares blankly before shrugging.

“Ooooh, man, I do _not_ like this.” Hunk mutters, weight shifting nervously.

“Look!” Pidge points down the ravine, and they all look in time to see a faint blue glow. It fades shortly after. “What was _that?_ ”

“Hey!” Lance cups his hands around his mouth as he shouts down into the darkness. “Are you guys dead?” There isn’t a reply.

“This is stupid,” Keith says, standing up from his crouch. His eyes are hard as he stares down into the ravine, and Lance can see the decision being made in the purse of his lips. There’s a glint in his eyes, and it’s that same determined glint that he always gets right before doing something risky, brave, or stupid. And a lot of times, it’s all three. “We’re wasting time up here. We need to follow them.”

“Keith, just wait a second—“ Shiro starts, reaching forward, but not before Keith leaps out over the edge and plummets into the ravine.

“Keith!” Lance shouts, voice cracking as it rises a few pitches.

Shiro is off the ledge a second later, sinking into the darkness after Keith. Allura is right on his tail.

“Nope, nu-uh. I’ll stay right here. Guard the bikes, and stuff.” Hunk is already turning, walking away with stiff legs. “I’ll see you guys later— _hey!_ ”

Pidge and Lance exchange a glance before running after him, grabbing him by the arms and hauling him to the edge of the cliff. They jump together, Pidge and Lance _whooping_ loudly and Hunk screaming as the descend into darkness.

The free fall makes his stomach flip, but adrenaline courses through his veins, excitement bubbling in his chest. It’s a sensation that’s simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating, and he loves it. A manic laugh is ripped from him, carried away by the air that howls past his ears. The blue glow from below starts up again before they reach it, but it’s clear they’re headed right for it.

Then all at once they stop.

It’s not sudden or jarring, but they’re slowed suddenly until their momentum is nothing. Like the air suddenly gained friction. And they’re left suspended, weightless, floating aimlessly while their insides catch up to the sudden shift. Blue is all around them, shifting and twisting in the air like smoke. It feels thick against his skin, and he connects the sensation of floating in goop. But without the actual goop. Just... nothing. In the air. But the pressure is all around him, blue slipping past his eyes, and suspended in air.

He slowly sinks down, and he rights himself so his feet touch the ground. Past the haze of blue, he can see others. Bodies. Rocks. It’s hard to make out details. He starts for them, movements feeling sluggish and slow, like wading through water.

And then he steps out of the blue haze, and everything speeds up to normal. He finds himself stumbling forward. Hands catch him, and when he looks up, he meets Keith’s gaze.

“How did you know that thing would catch us?” He asks as he straightens.

Keith’s hands fall away from him, and he shrugs. “I didn’t.”

Lance gives him a flat look, arms crossing over his chest as one eyebrow rises. “You are insane, you know that?”

Keith just grins, eyes dancing and hair wild and windswept. Lance’s insides feel like he’s in free fall again.

“Oh god,” Hunk groans as he steps from the blue haze, and Lance turns to see him his his arms wrapped around himself and face twisted. “I think I’m gonna hurl.”

Shiro steps up to him, rubbing his back and smiling kindly. “Just breathe through it, buddy.” Hunk gives him a pleading look, but does just that. Taking several deep breaths.

Pidge comes stumbling out of the haze a moment later, looking manic. Hair wild. Eyes wide. And a twisting grin on her lips. “That. Was. _Awesome_. Can we do it again? I wanna do it again.”

“Later, Pidge.” Keith’s voice is firm, commanding in the same way Shiro’s is, but not unkind. “We have a mission.”

That snaps her out of her glee. She straightens, grin falling into a firm line. “Right.”

The Ecarians are quick to herd them away from the blue haze, which fades into nothing once they’re all out of it. Now that they’re at the bottom, he finds it’s actually not as dark as he originally had thought. There’s actually a fair amount of daylight that makes it down the ravine, lighting up the city he finds himself surrounded by. It leads him to believe they must have some sort of cloaking technology that keeps it hidden from above.

The city of Caren’Cyth is _incredible_. The ravine rises on either side, tall and imposing, and buildings are carved into the walls of it. Buildings and walkways carved and set into the stone walls. Digging into the cliffsides so that a straight look down wouldn’t reveal them. Temple and buildings, rising higher than Lance can see and stretching just as far on either side. There’s very little in the space between the two walls, looking like a desolate bottom of a ravine.

Ecarians are everywhere. Standing along the ravine floor, all along the walkways carved into the cliffsides, standing on podiums and outdoor gardens, peering through windows, perched on balconies. They populate and decorate the city as much as the plants do. Plants of all colors and shapes and sizes. Vines and flowers crawling along the buildings. The buildings themselves only have one carved side, impeccable craftsmanship, painted and smooth surfaces, but it’s clear that they go far into the rock. Who knows how far? The city could go on for miles in either direction.

The Ecarians around them wear similar loose and translucent clothes that they had seen in Ascacan. Colorful and wrapped around their bodies.

Now that he sees them in person, he realizes a few things that the image in the ships database doesn’t quite emphasize. Just like he already knew, they’re bipedal with four arms and four eyes. Horns adorn their heads, peeling back from their foreheads and twisting into shapes that seem unique to the individual.

The weird parts include their skin, their hair, and their movements.

Their skin is pale white and near translucent. But where it catches the light, it’s iridescent. Casting off all sorts of colors where the light refracts. Making them look like pale ghosts with flashes of color. There’s not much variation between them, except for maybe the array of colors that are reflected.

Their hair also doesn’t have much variation. Only white and black and every shade of gray between. The strange part is that it looks... strange. Like it’s not made the same way human hair is. They keep it long, twisted in complicated braids that are pinned and twisted, piled on their heads and wrapped around their bodies.

Their movements, though, are the weirdest part. The movements themselves— the way they walk and gesture and turn and just... _move_ — look almost like they’re moving in slow motion. Like they’re moving through water. Slow and graceful, in a way. But they’re not actually going slow at all. They’re actually quite quick with everything they do.

He sees them moving, and his brain tries to predict their speed, of a walk or a gesture, but it ends up being completed long before his mind tells him it should be. It’s... eery. Comes off as creepy. His mind has a hard time wrapping around it, and it puts him on edge.

The two Ecarians who welcomed them above the ravine are quick to group them up, ushering them to one side of the ravine and into one of the stone buildings on ground level. Their movements are quick, despite looking like they should be slow, and they have to near jog to keep up with them.

They go deep into the cliffside, tunnels and caverns lit by glowing orbs and other light sources. They’re lead through tunnel after tunnel, around corners, through large rooms, up ramps and down stairs. They go quick. Far too quick for him to really get a glimpse of the underground city when he’s trying to keep up and not trip over the rocks at their feet.

At this point, Lance wouldn’t be surprised if they were just being led in circles to confuse them. Keep them from knowing the real location of their destination.

And after he has that thought, it’s hard to shake.

They finally slow when they reach a large chamber, the other end of which is blocked off by large double doors. Their guides turn, clasping their hands together and bowing slightly, two of their four eyes closed.

“We apologize for the rush.” One of them says. Their lips are just as pale as the rest of their skin.

“The drugonans informed us that this was an urgent matter,” Says the other.

“The elders asked for you to be brought as soon as possible. Time is of the upmost importance.” And then they step back, each of them moving to a door and pushing. The doors swing inward, stone silent against the ground. They step to the side, gesturing inward. “The elders will see you now.”

They step into a room that’s little more than a large cavern. The walls look natural, and the pillars along the rounded rim look carved straight from the stone. The ceiling rises high, and dancing lights cluster at the peak of the dome, casting solid but shifting light across the room. The floor is carved with symbols and in patterns and sigils that Lance doesn’t recognize. And the more he stares at them, the more they seem to shift and move, which is... weird.

He tries not to stare too much.

One Ecarian sits in the center of the room, where all the spiraling floor carvings seem to accumulate. They sit cross-legged, one set of hands resting on their knees, palm up, while the other two clasp in their lap. Their eyes are open, but half lidded as they watch the paladins enter the room. Their body is wrapped in intertwining layers of translucent and shimmering dark gold cloth. Their horns are long and curling, but look dull compared to the rest of their skin. Skin that, while it does still reflect colors like opal, seems dull in comparison to some of the Ecarians they had seen outside. Their hair is white and long, braided and piled high before cascading down their back, wrapping several times around them on the floor.

There’s no wrinkling of their skin, and white hair isn’t exactly uncommon, but Lance gets the distinct impression that this Ecarian is _old_. Really old. Like Elder is no misnomer, but it might be a little bit of an understatement.

As they step into the room, the doors behind them close. He looks up and around to find alcoves dug into the walls along the tall, circular chamber. Alcoves with little platforms of rock jutting out, creating small, individual sized balconies. On most of them sit an Ecarian. All different clothes colors, braid styles, and designs. But they all sit, almost eerily still, watching the paladins enter.

He can feel the weight of their eyes, and it makes his skin itch.

Allura and Keith take the lead, but Shiro is a step behind them. An imposing pillar of support. Lance trails behind them with Pidge and Hunk. The two of them make soft, awed sounds as they look around, and Lance can’t help but agree, even as his lips purse tight and unease crawls beneath his skin.

He gets the weirdest impression that all those eyes are looking at _him_ , which is ridiculous.

Allura, Keith, and Shiro step forward toward the Ecarian at the center, stepping on the carvings on the floor like they’re tiles. Moving to a distance that’s more acceptable for speaking. Lance follows automatically, but when his foot touches the tiles, he freezes.

Light shines from beneath his foot, blue but bright enough to look white. It crawls out from beneath his foot, spreading out along the floor carvings. It spreads quickly, like a flood gate released, filling the symbols on the floor, lighting up the entirety of the room. It takes only seconds for the entire floor to be lit up, and when it is, it begins to pulse faintly.

His friends stop, turning to stare at him, and now he’s certain that everyone in the room _is_ watching him.

Shiro’s brow furrows. “Lance, what did you do?” It’s not accusatory. Worried and wary, perhaps, but without blame.

Lance’s lips part, eyes darting down to his foot and across the floor before meeting Shiro’s gaze. He feels the panic rising in his throat, and his voice rises because of it. “I— I don’t _know_ —“

“Come forward, child.”

The voice is somehow rasping but smooth all at once. Echoing around them, but still sounding flat. Whispered, but clear as day. They all turn to the elder sitting in the center of the floor. They haven’t moved, despite the floor around them lighting up. In fact, none of the Ecarians look surprised.

“I, uh—“ He looks around, but his team offers him nothing but confused and wary expressions. He glances back at the elder. “I don’t know what I did—“

“Do not worry, child. You did nothing. The sigils react to those who are out of time. Come forward. Join me.”

The light pulsing on the floor speeds up a fraction, and with sinking horror, Lance realizes it’s in time with his heartbeat.

He glances at the others, and they give him small nods, stepping aside to let him move forward. He closes his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath and straightening his back, squaring his shoulders, and lifting his chin. He strides forward with as much purpose and confidence he can muster, stopping when he’s right in front of the Ecarian elder. Then he hesitates.

The elder makes a gesture with one hand. “Sit.”

He does so. Drops to the floor and crosses his legs as he does so. Shifting uncomfortably against the stone as he glances around the room at all the Ecarians on their stone balconies. “You, uh...” He licks his lips, swallowing down the lump forming in his throat. “You guys don’t look very surprised about all of— _this_.” He gestures to the floor around them.

It’s hard to tell, but he swears he sees the Ecarian smile. “No, we are not.”

“Um,” He shifts his weight, glancing over his shoulder at his team. None of them have moved, but they all watch carefully. “Can I ask how?”

“We felt the shift in time a deca-phoeb ago. The initial transference, and the return. We knew it would happen again to complete the cycle.”

“Uh...”

“We, as a people, are sensitive to the flow of time and quintessence in the universe. It is by no coincidence that we are the ones who created machines to help us transverse through the flow of time. We are all connected to it. We feel it. The machines were not used for selfish gain or for leisure. They were an integral part of our society and our belief structure. A part of us that grew too dangerous to keep in tact. A part of us that we have lost.” Their voice gets softer. Not quite bitter, but sad. And when Lance glances around the room, he can see the other’s postures drooping as well. “We had thought all the machines had been destroyed, until a deca-phoeb ago, when we felt the pulse of a transference.”

“You... you can _feel_ it?”

The elder nods. “It is like a stone dropped into a still pond. The ripples spread outward, perhaps not strong but certainly noticeable. We felt the ripples in the fabric of spacetime. And those of us old enough to remember what our lives had been like before recognize it for what it is.”

“Uh, excuse me?” Hunk calls from behind him. “Sorry to interrupt, but did you just say _old enough to remember_? Like, as in, some of you _remember_ Ecnes?”

Two of the elder’s eyes lifted to gaze over Lance’s shoulders, while the remaining two stayed fixed on him. “That is what I meant, yes.”

“But that was like, _ten thousand years ago!_ ” Pidge says.

The Ecarian chuckles. A rasping sound, hoarse with disuse. “Yes, child. Though it feels like longer.”

“Whoa,” Lance breathes, eyes widening. “But how...?”

The elder’s eyes return to him. “We have our ways. We exist with time, and we have our secrets to slow down the touch of it. Not forever, but for long enough to ensure the knowledge of our home, our planet, and our culture remains in tact throughout the generations.”

“Holy _crow_ , so you’re like... super old?”

It’s with a certain balance of pride, sorrow, and amusement that they say, “I am the oldest. But you did not come here to discuss our history.”

Lance’s shoulders slump, a sheepish and apologetic smile tilting his lips, “We, uh... no, we didn’t.”

The elder nods. “We understand. There are more pressing matters on your mind.”

Lance’s smile turns wry. “Yeah, you could say that.”

The elder lifts two of their arms, holding them out to Lance, long slender fingers hovering in the air. “May I?”

“Uh,” His eyes dart between the hands warily, the memory of Keith’s experience on Achore fresh in his mind.

The elder’s smile is kind. “It will not hurt. I merely wish to see your timeline.”

“My... timeline?”

“The status of you, your displaced counterpart, and the interwoven threads of your lifespan.”

“Oh, uh,” He glances over his shoulder, getting a mix of encouraging nods and confused shrugs from his friends. He meets Keith’s eyes for a moment longer than necessary, the intensity of his gaze making his breath catch in his throat. He looks away before the pulsing from the carvings can be too obvious. He looks back to the elder, lips pursing as he nods. “Yeah, okay.”

He stiffens as the Ecarian reaches forward, but he doesn’t pull back as the tips of slender fingers touch lightly at his temple and forehead. They’re cold to the touch. Then the elder closes all four eyes, only for a fifth one on their forehead to open. Iridescent irises, glittering like opal—

And then Lance’s vision flashes white, and the world fades around him.

For a moment, he feels suspended in time. Floating. Weightless. Not in nothing, but in light. White and blinding. Colors swirling and passing in a kaleidoscope of chaos. Shifting and changing too fast to be focused on. His awareness fades. His body. His thoughts. His worries. In that moment, he doesn’t remember his name. Doesn’t remember his friends.

He feels nothing— No, he feels _everything_. Everything, every part of himself, all at once. To the point where it’s so much, so overwhelming, that he steps outside it. Everything. Nothing. He is himself. He is everyone. He is no one.

He simply... exists.

Everything.

Nothing.

White.

Colors.

Formless.

Weightless.

And then all at once, he’s thrust back into himself. Throw back hard, and the shift in sensation is jarring. He gasps as the Ecarian pulls their hands away. Feels the echo of ice against his temples. Air sucks into his lungs, spreading awareness and warmth through his veins as he leans forward, hands going to the floor to steady himself as he hangs his head. Body heaving as his mind rapidly connects to it once again.

“ _Lance!_ ” He hears his name shouted with different voices. Familiar voices.

“Lance!” That one’s closer. Deep. Worried. A hand on his back, an arm wrapped around his shoulders. He leans into the warm body and registers it has Keith’s. “What did you do to him?”

“Lance!” Allura. Beautiful and colored with concern. She’s at his other side, hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

He leans into Keith, rolling his head to the side to send her a weak smile. “Just peachy, princess.”

“I... understand.” The elder sounds distant as their hands settle back on their knees. There’s no mistaking the melancholy in their voice.

“Understand what?” Keith snaps.

“ _Keith_ ,” Allura’s voice is a warning before it turns softer, gaze focusing back on the elder. “What do you understand?”

The elder’s fifth eye is closed once again. The other four are open but distant as they stare at the hands clasped in their lap. “I understand what I must do.” They look up then, meeting Lance’s gaze. “I will not lie to you. It is not good. Our people are built to withstand the test of time, but other species suffer from it. Your counterpart is deep within the throes of chronolomia, and time is not on your side. If left alone, the disease will run its course before they are able to fix the ancient machine and complete the transference. You will be able to return before permanent damage is done, but he will not.”

Allura’s breath hitches. Keith’s arm tightens around him, fingers biting into his shoulder. He hears the others gasp behind him, and a soft, “ _No,_ ” from Pidge. He feels dizzy again, floating and weightless, held to the ground only by Keith’s grip.

Before they can say anything, the elder is holding up a hand. “That is, if we allow the disease to naturally run its course. Which we will not.”

And just like that, there’s a flair of hope. A breathlessness and stillness that runs through them. He feels the electric spark of hope like static between them. He feels it in Keith’s arm and Allura’s touch. He feels it arching between them and the others behind them.

It’s Shiro who recovers first. “What can you do? What can _we_ do?”

The elder stands then. It’s a motion that looks like it takes great effort, slow and methodical and with the grace of a being moving through water. But Lance blinks, and they’re already at their feet, two hands clasped in front of them and two clasped behind their back. It has his mind reeling and that uneasy sensation itching beneath his skin.

Keith and Allura help him to his feet. His balance feels off, knees shaking slightly, but Allura holds his arm and Keith wraps an arm around his waist. He doesn’t have time to dwell on that touch, how it makes his body burn and his chest feel tight, because the elder is still staring at him. And the intensity of those eyes is hard to ignore.

Also the concept of being told that he isn’t going to die, but he _is_ going to die? Later? Another version of himself that will eventually _be_ himself? Yeah, that’s a mind twister that makes it hard to focus on other things.

“Time is a funny thing, young paladin.” They say, in that strange voice that echoes but doesn’t. Is loud but so soft. “It is with us always, changing us, healing us, hurting us. Our people see it as a living thing. We respect it, and it respects us in turn. Our people do not seek to control time, but to learn from it. And from that, we have understanding.”

Lance’s brows furrow, lips pursing. “I... I don’t understand.”

That small, ghost of a smile touched the elder’s lips. “Forgive an elder’s lament. I have been alive for far too long, and I have seen far too many things. We see many things in our lives. We see glimpses of our futures and fragments of our past. And we see them all at once. The machines we built helped bring understanding from the things we saw, but now we must live with the uncertainty. Except time is a funny thing. It often brings clarity all on its own.”

The elder heaved a heavy breath, tilting their head back. They stared up at the lights clustered on the ceiling.

“Time flows like a river. With the current of a stream. It can often be shifted and diverged down different paths. However, there are keystones in every being’s life. Keystones that cannot be changed. These events are fixed, and while it is believed that minor changes can be made, the events themselves cannot be stopped. Once the transference begun, it became one of your keystones. Something that cannot be stopped or diverted. It must be carried through to the end. The flow of time will not allow otherwise.”

The elder turned their head, four eyed gaze sweeping out across the alcoves. The other Ecarians had been silent, but now they shifted uneasily. The sound of it could be heard throughout the room.

“Your keystone does not, however, have to end in tragedy, and I now understand my part to play.” Their eyes returned to Lance’s, intense of multi-faceted. “When I first felt the shift in time, I felt it in my core. I did not realize at the time how this event is also a keystone in my own life, but now I understand. I have lived a long life. Far longer than I should have. Eager to pass on my knowledge of our home planet to the next generations and unwilling to leave my people. I was... reluctant to let myself go. I was uncertain when would be the right time, and I was worried about choosing the wrong path. I trusted time would show me when it was time to go, and it has.”

“I don’t...” He frowns, glancing at Keith and Allura, but they look just as lost as he feels. “I don’t understand.”

The elder lifts up a necklace, holding up a stone pendant that had been hidden amongst the folds of his clothes. A smooth stone, and one that looked much like their skin, but with cracks and veins of black etched through it. A symbol was carved onto the flatter surface. “We call these time stones. They are ancient, and only found on Ecnes. When imbued with certain properties, through our ancient rituals, they have the unique ability to slow down the passage of time on the wearer’s body. We have only a select few remaining from our escape from Ecnes. All of our elders have one. They are what has kept us alive this long.”

There’s a collecting gasp and muttering throughout the room, and Lance glances around, seeing the worry and whispers exchanged among the Ecarians on the balconies. But the elder continues.

“Though our bodies are less prone to chronolomia as others, we used to wear them as protection whenever we went on a soul journey. And I would like to offer mine to you, young paladin.” They hold up three hands, outward toward the other ecarians. It stops their muttering as it starts. An eery silence falls on the room. “I have seen, and I understand. Your keystone is mine as well. A marking of my time to let go. I will give you my time stone, paladins, to slow down the progress of the disease on your counterpart. It will not stop or cure the disease, but it will slow it. Hopefully long enough to ensure his safety.” The corners of their lips twitched further. “I trust you have ways of getting it to him.”

“I— We thank you, but—“ Allura stutters over her words, uncertainty creasing her brow. “That’s— that’s too much to ask—“

The elder holds up a hand, smile widening. There’s a sorrow about them, but it’s tempered by acceptance. They look less tired than they did when the paladins arrived. “It is not you who asks. It is something I give willingly. And I will not take no for an answer. Our people owe much to the paladins of Voltron. You freed this planet, our new home, and perhaps in the future, we may be able to come out of hiding and start again.” They step forward, leaning down and reaching out to take Allura’s chin in one hand. A long thumb wipes away a tear that’s falling down her cheek. “Do not cry for me, child. I have lived far too long. This is what I have been waiting for. A chance for my final moments to mean something. To give life to another.”

They straighten, stepping back. The room remains eerily silent. The other ecarians no longer mutter or whisper, but when Lance glances up, he can see the sorrow in their eyes and in their postures.

“If you will only give me time to say my goodbyes, the time stone will be yours. My only condition is that you return it to my people when it is no longer of use to you.”

“Of course,” Lance says, mouth feeling dry and voice thick. His mind buzzes, heart thumping far too loudly. This isn’t what he expected, nor what he wanted. He feels terrible, but the aura of acceptance and _contentment_ that the elder carries with him eases the guilt. And the hope flaring in Lance’s gut is too hard to ignore. “Take all the time you need.”

The elder smiles. “I do not need much, and you need it more than I do.”

 

* * *

 

Their return to Ascacan is a race against time and the setting sun.

Determined to get back before darkness overtakes the desert, their guides push them hard, speeding dangerously across the sands. Several times Lance nearly loses control of his bike, especially when they have to swerve sharply to avoid beasts and sink pits, but his reflexes are sharp and his mind is focused.

It’s much easier to focus wholly on the task at hand, something physical, here and now, than let his mind wander too far into the realm of _what-if’s_ and _maybe’s_.

They reach Ascacan just as the last rays of sunlight dip below the horizon, and while they don’t know what sort of dangers haunt the sand wastes at night, Lance feels a chill creep down his spine as they turn their backs to the darkness.

Despite making it back to the city, their nerves don’t wane. Their race against time isn’t done. Every moment that passes is a moment that he— his future self— is being twisted in the grip of time and an unpredictable disease. With adrenaline high, they speed through the streets of Ascacan, leaving their confused and disgruntled escorts in their wake.

It’s a silent decision, but one they all make together. Keith speeds ahead first as their escorts slow, Pidge clinging tightly to his back, and Lance is right behind him, hands gripping tight to the handlebars and crouched low and forward as the wind whips at his clothes. He can hear the solid hum of Shiro and Allura’s bike behind him as they weave dangerously through the streets, barely avoiding buildings, structures, and people.

They don’t stop until they reach the castle, still perched outside the palace atop the plateau. The bikes screech to a stop outside, and they scramble off of them before rushing toward the gangplank. They run to the bridge where Coran and their small time travel device wait.

And it’s with shaking hands that Lance removes the necklace from around his neck, the weight of the pendant comforting in his hand as he passes it over to Pidge.

The team gathers around while she and Hunk set up the machine, put the stone inside, and press the sequence that will send it a year into the past to a younger version of Keith. His Keith.

As the Ecarian elder had said, however, time is a funny thing.

And as he’s learning first hand, it’s an unstable thing that has a tendency to crush the things that tamper with it.

In a flash of light and far too many sparks to be good, the little time machine breaks.

They all stare at it long after the light has faded. Stare at the cracked panels and smoke trailing from it. Stare long into a stretching silence. A silence that pools dread and realization together into a cesspit of worry. They all feared it might happen. The little machine had been made from parts around the castle and not the materials found on Ecnes, which were far more up to par with handling the stress of time manipulation. Pidge and Hunk had warned them it was only a matter of time until it broke.

But the reality of it is a lot more disheartening than the looming idea of it.

The time stone was gone, which proved to be a blessing and a curse. No one voices the possibility that it might not have made it to its destination, but it’s a reality that seeps to their minds, sunk into their hearts, and clung to their expressions.

Keith is the first to move. He turns abruptly, leaving the room with a quick and clipped pace, hands clenched at his sides and shoulders far too stiff. Lance watches him go, heart feeling heavy and chest feeling tight.

He wants to go after him. Wants to catch up to him in the hall and take his hand, forcing the fingers to relax. He wants to pull Keith into his arms, cling to him, and find comfort even as he offers it. He wants to hold tight and bury his face in Keith’s neck, breathe in the increasingly familiar smell of him and use him as an anchor as his own fear washes over him.

But he doesn’t.

He stays where he is, watching the door long after it closes. Feels the burning behind his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek.

Because self-awareness is a bitch, and now that he knows there’s lines he shouldn’t cross, he sees them everywhere, and Keith looks more out of his reach than ever.

 

* * *

 

They decide to stay on Drugotha for a couple more days. They arrived so suddenly, and without explanation, convinced the royal council to divulge the secret of the Ecarian refugees that they’ve kept for ten thousand years. Coran and Allura insist that they should stay to send a good message and spread good will, or whatever.

Lance can see it for what it really is: a distraction.

It’s either sit up in some peaceful pocket of space and wait to see if their past selves can hook up the machine in time to save his future self’s life, all of them dwelling on the fact that they’re not sure if the time stone actually got there, or they can spend a few days on a planet, learning about the locals, wrapped up in political meetings, and participating in cultural events.

Keep the body active to keep the mind from dwelling, and all that jazz.

Lance, however, isn’t allowed in the political meetings. The team agreed, very firmly, that it was too likely that the drugonans would want to discuss things that he shouldn’t know. So to keep him spoiler free, they’ve banned him from the meetings they hold with the full drugonan council.

That’s fine with him. Means he can try to keep busy doing _fun_ things instead of being cooped up with a bunch of stuffy royals. At least that’s what he tells himself as his team splits away with apologetic smiles.

Fortunately, he’s not alone. They agreed that it would be strange to have one paladin sitting out without explanation, and they also agreed that Lance shouldn’t be allowed to wander on his own when none of them are sure when the next bout of chronolomia will hit. He wants to be offended that they insist he has a babysitter, but... he understands. He understands, and it means he’s not alone.

And it means that he gets some alone time with Keith, because _of course_ Keith is the one to insist he be the one to watch Lance. He’s not really surprised, but it makes his insides all jittery nonetheless.

It’s cool. He’s cool. It’s just alone time with Keith. No biggie. They _are_ friends, crazy stupid box of needless emotions set aside. And he _is_ happy to spend time with him. A little _too_ happy, but he can’t really help that.

Unfortunately, Keith isn’t exactly great company at the moment.

After the palace became too cramped, and the castle ship was a definite no-go, Lance had insisted they wander Ascacan. Keith hadn’t said much in the way of protest, but he hadn’t really said much at all. Dressed in their drugonan outfits, Lance leads the way through the streets. The city is busy, and the streets are crowded. Market stalls line the walkways, cobbled with white stone and wide enough to let both crowds and the occasional hover bike past. Red sand is everywhere, covering the city in a fine layer of dust.

There’s so much to look at. So many drugonans, so much food around them, so many weapons suppliers, crafts, blankets, clothes, everything. His senses are assaulted with it all, and it gets an energy flowing through his veins like electricity, abuzz with all of it.

But Keith... Keith is quiet. Even when Lance tries to show him things, tries to crack jokes, the most he gets is a small, forced smile. His eyes look haunted, shadowed with heavy bags. Lines crease his forehead and around his lips. He looks... tired. But it’s more than that. Shadowed claws have their grip sunken deep into him, and they hand on him like a second skin.

And Lance _knows_ it’s about him. Well, not about _him_ , exactly. But about the time swap. About the chronolomia. About the time stone and the big ol’ question mark around that.

Keith is worried and stressed, and he’s really not good at hiding it despite whatever he thinks he’s doing. And while Lance knows none of this is his fault, he feels a twinge of guilt whenever Keith’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Whenever his gaze looks at him and sees _through_ him to a version of him that’s under a lot more duress.

He hates the way Keith’s movements are listless. The way his shoulders slump. The way his teeth clench whenever his eyes get particularly glassy. He hates the bitter smile and the soft chuckle that sounds choked. He hates the way Keith looks over the market without really seeing anything. The way his reactions are delayed, like he’s having trouble focusing and processing past whatever he’s thinking way too hard about. Whatever’s haunting him.

And Lance can get a pretty good idea, but he doesn’t _know_. He wishes he could just crack open that big dumb head of his and take a peek, but he can’t. And when he asked about it, Keith had brushed it off with a smile that almost looked pained before turning to hide his face completely.

Lance hates it. He hates this shadow of Keith. This isn’t the strong but soft Keith he’s gotten to know. The one that takes charge and commands respect without demanding it. The Keith that always seems to know what to do and when to do it. The Keith that’s open and vulnerable, but still confident and comfortable.

This isn’t even _his_ Keith. The younger one. The stubborn and fiery one. The one with the blazing eyes and the sharp tongue. The one that’s so wholly and completely driven. Wearing determination like a second skin. The one that can never seem to sit still. Always needs to find something physical, some sort of activity, to keep him busy and occupied and—

Wait. That’s... not a bad idea.

Glancing over his shoulder, he finds Keith absentmindedly looking over a display of knick-knacks. Glass blown bobbles and things. There’s a light pinch to his brows and lines around his lips. His gaze is distant, even as it lingers over a few items.

Watching him, Lance slowly steps away from the stall he’d been standing by. Shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his outer coat, arms straight enough that his shoulders rise with it, he takes a few cautious steps backwards. He then turns, keeping Keith in his peripheral, and starts to casually walk away. He hovers near the corner of a street, just within sight, and waits.

It takes him a moment. Lance watches as he looks away from the glass bobbles, blinking in surprise and looking around. When he spots Lance, his gaze continues on for a second before snapping back.

With a small smile tugging at his lips, Lance casually walks around the corner.

As soon as he’s around, he speeds up, eyes scanning the new street for the nearest corner. When he gets there, it’s just in time for him to glance over his shoulder to find Keith stepping out onto the street. He finds him faster this time, and Lance gives him only half a second before he’s darting away once again.

He nearly bumps into someone and has to throw himself to the side at the last moment, arms flailing and quick apology falling from his lips. They blink out of sync, staring at him with wide eyes. He knows that look. That’s the _hey! You’re a paladin!_ look. Which he’s normally super okay with, but right now, he’s on a mission.

And that mission is to make Keith smile.

“Sorry, can’t stop to chat right now—“ His hands are held up, backing up down the street quickly when he spots Keith rounding the corner, pausing what looks like a sprint, hair flying around his face as he scans the street, eyes locking on Lance. His lips are pursed, and his eyes narrow. “Whoops, _gotta-go-bye!_ ”

He spins on his heel and dashes down the street, taking the first corner.

And that’s how the game starts.

Next thing he knows, they’re darting through Ascacan, weaving through the pedestrian and market streets, sprinting like mad men in an elaborate game of chase.

Lance leads the way, laughter bubbling up and drifting through the wind, face split into a grin as he ducks through the streets. He leaps over obstacles and weaves through people will quickly muttered apologies. He’s good at it. Weaving through a crowd with the slipperiness of an eel. He thinks on his feet, making quick turns and rounding stalls, darting behind carts to momentarily fool Keith before darting back the way they’d come.

Keith keeps pace, but can’t catch up to him. When Lance glances behind him, he can see the problem. Keith has a very straight-to-the-point mentality when it comes to the chase. He wants to barrel straight through people, to shove them aside and make a beeline for Lance. But he has enough awareness to know that he can’t. In this, Lance has the upper hand and a head start.

He flashes Keith grins as he rounds corners, smirking when he catches Keith get caught behind pedestrians. Sticking his tongue out and waving his hands in the air before disappearing down alleyways.

He’s quickly reminded not to get too cocky.

Running down the street, he darts through an intersection just before a row of hover bikes zips past, cutting through the gap between him and Keith. He slows, turning to showcase his momentary victory, only to find Keith’s pace unchanging. He charges forward, steering toward the side. Quick steps have him climbing a stack of boxes, rising in the air before he leaps, momentum carrying him over the row of speeding hover bikes.

He does a flip in the air that is _completely_ unnecessary, landing and rolling before coming up into a crouch. He lifts his head, eyes blazing and gleaming from beneath his fringe, a smug smirk curling his lips.

Lance’s smile falters, mouth going dry, and breath catching in his throat because— _fuck_ , if that’s not super hot. Definitely _not_ the kinda smile Lance had been hoping to pull out of him with this whole game of tag, but goddamn, he’ll take it as a victory.

Not right now, though. Right now Keith is looking at him with that flare of determination and a spark of triumph, and Lance can’t let him win that easily. So he spins on his heel and takes off down the street once more.

With some quick thinking, rapid fire corner turns, and fancy footwork that’s a little less than graceful, he manages to put some distance between himself and Keith. But despite the adrenaline flooding through his veins, his lungs are burning and his legs are aching and he’s got a stitch in his side.

He finds himself sprinting out into a large, open square. There’s a stone fountain at the center, and a medley of musicians around it. Stalls line the outer edge of the square, and drugonans fill the open space, twirling and dancing together. He skirts along the outer edge, careful not to get in anyone’s way.

He’s contemplating the best way to end this game of tag with his dignity still in tact when a hand suddenly grabs him. He’s yanked to the side abruptly, feet leaving the ground and scrambling for balance. He’s pulled to the side, in a space between two stalls draped with tapestries and cloth, and yanked down into a crouch between them.

Before he can say anything, a hand is clasped over his mouth, and he’s left staring wide-eyed into the face of the drugonan from when they arrived. The pretty young one with pale yellow skin, gold scales and hair, and a circlet on her forehead. The one who had been making eyes at him.

She grins, giving him a wink as she puts a finger to her lips. She turns then, and they both watch as Keith sprints past their little hiding spot, nearly tripping over himself in an attempt to scramble away from a couple of children playing in the street. Lance catches the momentary panic cross his features and doesn’t even bother trying to hide his smile.

The drugonan must feel it, because she looks at him then, a small smile on her own lips as she lowers her hand once Keith is gone. “Hello, blue one.”

“Uh, hi? Hello! Um... uuuuh...” His eyes dart between hers, the street, and the two stalls they’re hiding between. “Heeeey, _you_.”

Her smile stays the same, but her cheeks lift, even as her eyes narrow. “You don’t remember my name.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Lance offers her a smile he hopes is as apologetic as he feels. “Sorry,” His hands fly up, held out in a placating gesture. “It’s not you, I swear! I, just—um, I’ve been having some memory problems lately, and—“

She chuckles, putting a hand on his and lowering them. “It is okay, Lance. I understand.”

He quirks a brow. “You... do?”

She nods, looking away, out to the square where the dancers twirl their partners and the musicians play. “You are a defender of the universe. You’ve visited far more planets than mine. You meet so many people. It would be unfair of me to expect you to remember everyone you meet.” There’s a sadness there, and it twists up his insides.

“Hey, hey, I remember _you_. Just, you know, not your name.” He doesn’t think it’s a lie. He’s pretty sure he would remember her.

She turns back to him then, a small smile curling the corners of her lips. “Naatha.”

“Naatha.” He repeats. It’s only then that he realizes just how close they’re sitting, crouched in the shadows. And how much that situation doesn’t exhilarate him as it might have once upon a time. Now it just makes him feel... awkward. “So, uh—“ He scoots a little to the side, fixing his coat and putting some space between them. “Any particular reason you grabbed me?”

Her smile curls a little wider. “I was in town to visit friends of mine, but it seemed like you could use a break with your little chase.” He gives a noncommittal nod, because he can’t really argue with that. She leans forward a little then, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It’s good to see the bond between you and the red one is still going strong.”

And then he’s sputtering, eyes widening as he whips around to face her, arm flying up as a defense. “ _What?_ ”

She chuckles then, leaning back on her heels, hands on her knees. “No need to be coy, blue one,” She says, and Lance isn’t sure he likes how she’s looking at him. He’s seen that look in his sister’s eyes before, and it never ended well. “I’ve seen how you look at each other. It’s clear your bond is still stronger than ever.”

“ _Whoa, whoa, whoa_ , hold up.” He waves his hands in front of himself before crossing his arms. “Stop right there. Time out. We do _not_ have a bond. At least, not like how you’re implying.”

“Oh?” Her smile fades a fraction, head tilting to the side. When she blinks, it’s out of sync, which seems to be a trend among drugonans. “Is it still a secret?”

“What?”

“Last time you were here, I made a very clear proposition, and you turned me down.” There’s a sadness there, but not one that’s fresh. One that’s understanding. More of a mourning of what could have been, but tempered by the knowledge that the outcome was for the best. “You said there was another.”

He feels like he’s reeling, and he’s not sure if the lightheadedness is from the chronolomia or his sudden inability to breathe. It’s strangely surreal. To not only be faced with a pretty alien that he would without a doubt be into, and feel no desire to initiate anything, but to be faced with a pretty alien who had been into _him_ and feel no desire to reciprocate.

And apparently that isn’t anything new, because he’s done it once before.

“I never said it was _Keith_ , though.” He leans back on one hand, his other lifting to idly scratch at his cheek. His eyes dart away before slowly returning to her. “Did I?”

She tilts her head, smile wide and toothy. “You didn’t have to. It was clear in the way you looked at him.”

Great. He has no idea when they visited this planet for the first time, but he apparently doesn’t get over his stupid crush anytime soon. Great. Just... really fucking great. Fantastic. Heartbreaker Lance has turned into the heartbroken, and it’s gonna apparently take him a while to get over it. God, what if his future self is _still_ a fucking disaster when this stupid time bullshit happens?

“I’m glad your scar seems to have healed.”

He starts, realizing that he’s been glaring at nothing, blunt nails scratching incessantly at his cheek. He freezing, eyes snapping back to Naatha’s. It’s not until he stops scratching that he realizes why he had begun in the first place. That strange itch is back. The odd burn beneath his skin. Like the skin is too tight and the muscles beneath are strained. It tingles, this weird ache starting up again the moment he stops scratching.

He blinks. “Uh, what?”

“Your scar.” She reaches forward, fingers gently wrapping around his wrist to pull his hand away. Her eyes roam his cheek, right where he had been scratching. “Last time you were here, you had a scar. It seemed… bad. I doubted it would ever heal completely, but it seems to be gone now. Does the skin still itch?”

“Uh, sometimes?”

She nods, climbing to her feet and pulling him up by her grip on his wrist. “I figured as much. It was a terrible looking wound, and I doubt it would fade without some sort of reminder.”

She doesn’t let go of his wrist, and he’s starting to feel out of place. His heart is pounding, mind whispering that word over and over again. _Scar_. It’s hard to take much else in when he finds himself so fixated on that piece of information he probably shouldn’t have.

_Scar. Scar. Scar._

“The red one will no doubt double back to find you soon. Come, dance with me while we wait.”

She pulls him out into the market square. The music is light and lifting, but melodically smooth, with a drumbeat that is consistent and soothing. Not enough to drive the dancers into a frenzy, too fast to be a slow song, and just right for keeping spirits high on a market day.

Naatha swings him around, and while he doesn’t know the steps, he picks them up easily. She leads, and he follows across the cobblestones. And when he’s finally starting to relax, he takes to spinning her around as well. Her laugh is genuine and pretty, and part of him mourns the fact that he feels nothing for her. But it’s also... nice. It’s nice being able to have this and do this without trying to impress her. Without feeling the need to.

They’ve only been dancing for a couple of songs before she’s pulling him in close, moving up on her toes to speak into his ear. “Your red paladin is watching.”

He glances over his shoulder, and sure enough, Keith stands at the edge of the dancing crowd. Arms crossed over his chest and weight leaned onto one hip. His eyes are locked onto them, following them as they move with the other dancers, lips pursed into a small frown.

“Go to him.” He turns back to Naatha to find her smiling, and there’s a bittersweetness about it as she steps away from him. “It was nice seeing you again, Lance.”

He smiles, and while he can’t say it was nice seeing her _again_ , he wasn’t completely put off by her company. No matter how brief. “Yeah, you, too.”

She turns and melts off into the crowd, disappearing through moving bodies, and he watches her go before turning and making his way to Keith.

“Hey,” He says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” Keith glances at him before his eyes drift back to where Naatha disappeared. “What did she want?” It’s carefully blank, delivered systematically void of inflection.

Lance shrugs, and they step further to the edge of the square, out of the way of the dancers. “To say hi, I guess. And help me win.”

Keith’s eyes snap back to his before narrowing. “You didn’t win.”

Lance can’t help the curve of his lips or the tilt of his head. “I managed to lose you. I think that counts as winning.”

Keith huffs, rolling his eyes as he looks away. “Sure, Lance.”

They stand there for a moment longer, and Lance finds his fingers rising to his face once more, trailing along his cheek and down to his jaw. The itch is fading, but he’s still stuck on that word. _Scar_. “Hey, Keith?” He was aiming for casual, but it comes out a little softer and far more vulnerable than intended. He can see Keith turn to look at him, but he keeps his eyes forward, locked on the musicians around the fountain without really seeing them. “Naatha said I had a... scar? Last time we were here? She made it sound like it was pretty bad.”

Keith is silent for a long moment. Long enough for the drumbeat to build and fall. He finally sighs, looking away, and Lance has to strain to hear his voice when he says, “Yeah... Yeah, you did.”

“Do I still have it now? Like, the me that got sent back to the past?”

Keith’s shoulder’s slump. Just barely. Hardly noticeable if Lance hadn’t been watching him out of the corner of his eye. “Yes.”

The pieces of the puzzle don’t so much snap together as drift gently into place, clicking together firmly but softly. A few pieces. Not enough to see the whole picture, but enough for him to draw conclusions. Enough that when they drift into place, realization blooms inside him. A light, dim at first, growing steadily into an idea.

Keith, haunted by memories of an incident where Lance was hurt. Keith, gently stroking his cheek, eyes wide and glassy with fear after what Chozass showed him. Keith, eyes trailing that same spot time and time again, gaze distant and lost in memory. A terrible scar. A terrible incident. The quiet guilt hanging heavily on Keith’s shoulders.

Realization doesn’t hit him so much as it caresses past his mind, gentle as a breeze. Settling into him quietly.

“Keith,” He says, voice soft and kind. He reaches out, hand falling to Keith’s shoulder. He feels the red paladin stiffen. “Was this... Is the scar related to what you had to relive on Achore?”

Keith’s shoulder slumps once more, head ducking to hide his face. He says nothing, but his silence is all the affirmation Lance needs.

Lance hums softly, shifting his weight to one hip as he idly scratches his cheek, other hand planted on his hip. “Is it at least a ruggedly handsome scar?”

Keith looks up at that, confusion coloring his features for just a moment before it softens. Before that gleam of amusement lights up his eyes and his lips quirk just so. “Definitely.”

Lance knows it’s a joke. He knows it’s a tease. He knows it’s just banter and that he baited it out of him. But when Keith looks at him like that, with a gaze that’s far too soft and far too deep and swirling with far too many things that Lance is far too scared to put a name to, he can’t help but imagine a possibility that it’s genuine.

And it’s in that moment where he considers that possibility, in that moment where he can pretend for just a second that he stands even a fraction of chance, in that moment where he imagines a life where that look means so much more than it should, that he impulsively reaches out. Reaches out and takes Keith’s hand. Drags him into the fray of dancers before he can change his mind.

High on a fantasy, drunk on possibility, he pulls Keith against him. Holds up their joined hands and places his other on Keith’s hip. Tries to contain the heavy _thump_ in his ribcage as Keith’s hand automatically goes to his shoulder.

“Lance, I can’t dance.” He looks nervous, but it’s a different kind than he’s been seeing recently. This is a more panicked nervous, a more immediate one. One that doesn’t run as deep but burns just as strongly. His fingers tighten on Lance, and he jerks stiffly as Lance begins to lead them across the cobblestones.

“Everyone can dance,” He says, hands gentle but firm as he guides Keith through the motions.

“ _I_ can’t.” And there’s that little frown again. The one that looks far too much like a pout. The one that makes insides go all fuzzy. The one that gives him the terrible urge to wrap Keith up in his arms and laugh into his hair.

“Are you telling me in the past year, I haven’t _once_ tried to teach you how to dance?”

“You’ve _tried_ , but that doesn’t mean I _can_.”

“Give yourself some credit. You’re already picking up on the motions.”

And he is. Though still stiff about it, Keith starts to catch the flow of the steps Lance leads him through. He keeps it simple. Keeps it familiar. Ignoring the more complicated steps the drugonans dance to around them. Despite his verbal protests muttered under his breath, Keith doesn’t try to pull away. Instead, he keeps his head ducked down, staring at their feet, furrow to his brows and a scowl that’s downright adorable.

“See? You can dance just fine.”

“If you can call this dancing,” He grumbles.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it _graceful_.” Keith looks up at him with a sharp glare, and Lance grins, pulling him a fraction closer and hoping he doesn’t notice. “Who would’ve guessed the great Keith Kogane would ever be uncoordinated on his feet?”

“It’s because I _don’t dance_.”

“What about when you’re fighting?”

Keith scowls, confusion corroding his glare. “That’s fighting. Not dancing.”

Lance’s smirk tugs at his lips, voice dropping despite himself. “With how graceful you are when you do it, it might as well be.”

He has the immense satisfaction of watching Keith’s face turn red. It starts at his neck, creeping up to spill pink over his cheeks before spreading to the tips of his ears. He looks down, gaze fixed firmly around Lance’s collarbones, lips pursed tightly into a scowl. But despite his attempts to hide it, Lance can see the blush in all its glory.

It makes embers come to life in his gut, bubbling in his stomach with a giddy contentment.

Until he realizes that this might have been a line he’s not allowed to cross, and that heat instantly runs cold.

Before he has a chance to backtrack, however, Keith is grumbling something he can’t quite hear. “Sorry, what was that?”

Keith glances up at him, through his lashes and through fallen strands of his hair. Lance feels his heart stutter and _really_ hopes it’s not visible on his face. “I said you’ve already used that line before.”

“Yeah, well. I’m technically younger now, so in a way, I’m using it for the first time.”

A few short breaths leave his lips, reminiscent of a chuckle as he ducks his head once more. He’s taller now, though. Not by much, but by enough that it makes it harder for him to hide his face. Especially when they’re standing this close. Especially when Lance’s eyes are greedy for more, desperate to roam over his sharp features, somehow both more rugged and softer through time.

Now that he’s gained some level of familiarity with the movements Lance leads him through, his concentration wanes. The distraction loses it’s potency. Lance can feel that strange buzz of tension fizzle back into the air between them. The same heavy atmosphere that’s been hanging around Keith since last night when they sent the time stone.

He ducks his head a little, catching a glimpse of Keith’s face. Seeing the shadows reforming. The lines creasing. The distance in his gaze as he stares over Lance’s shoulder.

It makes his heart ache, and that’s all the encouragement he needs to broach the topic that he’s been carefully avoiding all morning.

“You’re worried.” He says it gently, leading into the conversation like wading into a still pond.

Keith scoffs lightly, a bitter laugh trailing at the end of it. “Of course I am.”

“Keith...”

There must have been something in his voice that Keith doesn’t like. The sympathy? The pity? The ache? Who knows. It _hurts_ to see Keith this way. Hurts to see _Keith_ hurt for him. It’s twisted up in far too many emotions that encompass far too many things for him to successfully hide it. Keith doesn’t turn his head, but his eyes snap to the side, pinning Lance with a sharp glare. “He needs me,” He says it with absolute certainty. That infallible confidence and strength that has Lance weak at the knees. “ _You_ need me.” He looks away, and his head ducks a little more, hair falling over his shoulders. “And there’s nothing I can do.”

Lance chuckles, soft and breathy. “But Keith, there _is_.” His hand slips up from Keith’s hip, wrapping around to his back until it’s settled between his shoulder blades. There he gently rubs up and down Keith’s spine, a small thrill shooting through him when Keith relaxes at the contact. Lance pulls him closer, the closest they can get to a hug while still swaying across the market square in the mockery of a dance. “I know we weren’t really close friends back in my time, but you’re probably back there helping me— the other me— right now. Little, tiny, angry you. You’d probably be super grumpy about it, but you’d help me, right?”

Keith sighs, and it sounds like defeat. He slumps forward, forehead landing on Lance’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

In a moment of weakness, in a moment where he lets himself just enjoy this moment, just lets himself _have this_ , he leans his head until it rests against Keith’s. Breathes in the smell of his hair. And simply lets himself enjoy their nearness without the guilt of it gnawing at his chest. “So you don’t gotta trust me when I say I’ll be alright. but trust that _you_ will make sure I am.”

“Okay.” It’s barely more than a breath, but it sounds lighter than he did a moment ago. It doesn’t sound like a smile, but close enough.

“Look, there’s nothing we can do now. We’ve done everything we can.” He continues to idly travel the bumps of Keith’s spine with his fingers, and he can’t help but imagine what it would be like to do so without the drugonan coat in the way. Without the bodysuit. And that— that’s not a thought he’s allowed to have, but he has it anyway. Fleeting and teasing before we swats it away like a fly. “The ball’s in their court now. All we can do now is wait, hope for the best, and enjoy the time that we have.”

Keith’s shoulder shake with a soft chuckle. “ _I_ should be the one comforting _you_.”

“I have a feeling you already are.”

He wonders what his Keith thinks of his older self. How the stubborn, angry, and guarded young paladin is handling an older Lance. He wonders how _he_ handles a younger, sharper version of Keith after getting used to this one.

He’s lost in thought when he feels Keith shift closer. Feels his hand wrap around him more firmly and feels their chests press tighter. Feels his face nuzzle into his neck, shielded and protected by the high collar of his drugonan coat but sensitive all the same. It’s a hug. A semblance of one, anyway. And friends hug. Teammates hug. It isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last. But there’s something about it, something that feels far more intimate than it should, and Lance knows it’s his body reacting in ways it shouldn’t.

His mind is snapped back to the present, emotions running hot and cold through his veins as his body soaks up and memorizes the contact. It’s good, and it’s bad. It sends a thrill through him, euphoric and exciting, but chasing in its wake is dread. Is guilt. And the guilt is enough to get him to step back.

As the music crescendos, Lance unravels Keith from him, throwing him out into a spin and holding onto him with just their joined hands. Keith follows the direction, although clumsy in his surprise, flailing out with eyes wide. Lance laughs at the look on his face, rushing forward to scoop him up and start off across the cobblestones. He leads Keith through steps that are quicker than the sway they were doing earlier, lively enough that Keith has to actually concentrate on them again. Lance pulls them along in a strange mix of earth dance techniques, and what Naatha dragged him through earlier. He has no doubts that they look strange, but he doesn’t care.

Slowly, so slowly, a ghost of Keith’s smile returns, and that makes it all worth it.

The music ends, and the dancers slow to a halt when the musicians announce that they’re taking a quick break. They’re applauded loudly, and they take their bows. When Lance turns back to Keith, he finds him already looking at him.

And his breath catches in his throat.

His chest heaves with soft pants as he catches his breath, cheeks pink from exertion and the sun. His hair is wild, catching in the breeze and framing his face. Dark eyes sparkling in the light of the afternoon sun, wide and gleaming and looking right at _him_. Not through him to another version of himself. Not through him into memories. But at _him_.

He looks thoughtful, and his face is soft, shedding the layers of guarded walls and thorny edges. Leaving him breathlessly beautiful and far too open, and it feels like needles are in Lance’s heart, stomach twisting into knots and threatening to crush his lungs.

“What’s that look for?” He asks, letting out a chuckle that sounds far too airy to be natural. His limbs feel like their buzzing, and his knees shake, but it doesn’t carry with it the looming dream of a chronolomia wave. It’s lighter. Makes him feel almost giddy, despite his nerves.

His smile is small and secretive as he tilts his head to the side just a fraction. “Nothing, it’s just... you’re very good at this.”

“What? Dancing? When you grow up in a family like mine, you learn to dance before you can walk.”

Keith is already shaking his head, lips quirking further at the corners. “No, not that. Talking to people. Seeing the way things are and saying it the way people need to hear it.”

“Oh,” He feels a fluttering in his chest, and he crosses his arms over it, like that might somehow stop the cascade of _feelings_ rushing through him. His fingers tap restlessly at his biceps, but he finds it in himself to smirk. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not. I mean, I know you are, but... I don’t think I ever noticed that you’ve always been this way.” His smile remains fixed, but it fades from his eyes as his voice softens at the edges. “I was too wrapped up in my own head to notice it sooner. I wish I had.”

The budding happiness that starts in his stomach, rising up through his chest, is a warmth that can’t compare to the sun soaking into his skin. It’s something that runs hotter, deeper, and burns him down to his core. It’s not the giddy bubbling of infatuation, but something more solid. Something far more important. Like a fraction of him that had been fragile in the shadows has suddenly been given new life.

It’s the renewed strength and vigor that fuels his pride and his confidence when someone he admires sees something in him worth praising.

And that feeling quickly runs cold as Keith absently reaches for his chest, grabbing at the front of his coat, fingers prodding at a shape Lance can’t see but knows how it feels pressed against Keith’s sternum.

His ring.

It’s a reminder that has the happy bubble around him popping. Has that soaring feeling in his chest suddenly cut short, leaving his stomach flipping in that way that happens in free fall. Has him plummeting back to reality.

And the reality is that this is all they are and all they’ll ever be. Keith will always be someone he admires, a friend, a teammate, and nothing more.

Still, Lance is willing to admit, if only to himself, that he’s selfish. Selfish enough that he’ll take what he can get. He’ll take the momentary high, even if it makes the crash worse in the end. He’ll take it because he wants it, and sometimes even a fraction is better than nothing at all.

So he reaches out and takes Keith’s hand, tugging him back toward the palace that looms over the city. “Come on, the others should be almost done with their meetings.”

He doesn’t let go of Keith’s hand, and Keith doesn’t pull away. And when Keith shifts his grip so their fingers are intertwined, Lance squeezes harder.

Because he is a selfish man, and he’s all too aware that he could be dying. That he might never make it back to this future. And so he allows himself, for just this moment, to live in a fantasy where Keith might be his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, hop on over to ["Ghost of the Future"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/34859540) to read the new chapter there!
> 
> We're still not sure how long these stories will be in terms of chapters, but we're starting to build up to the final stretch.
> 
> Please check out our social media pages for opportunities to support us and gain access to additional content!
> 
> ________________________  
> ["Ghost of the Future"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9733331/chapters/31641354)  
> [My Tumblr](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Bo's Main Tumblr](http://www.zizzani.tumblr.com), [Bo's Art Tumblr](http://dreamwips.tumblr.com/), and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/anna_bohac)  
> 


End file.
